The State of Man
by A.N. Porter
Summary: When Merlin's magic was revealed, it was as accidental and disastrous as he'd always feared. Now, Morgana's invaded Camelot again, and she intends to use the resentment of sorcerers everywhere against them. Merlin and Arthur need each other to save the kingdom, and this time, they won't be able to do anything unless they redefine themselves and repair their friendship.
1. Chapter 1

_**The State of Man**_

written by A.N. Porter

* * *

**A/N**: Hello, all! I'm super excited for this story. I've published on here before (on another account), but this is my first time writing for the _Merlin_ fandom. Feel free to leave a review. Tell me how it was: if a phrase was unclear, if I've overlooked errors, or even if you thought it sucked.

Setting: **Post Season 4**. The beginning takes place four months post Season 4; the rest of the story is five months after that.

The very first section of every chapter depicts the events leading to the big reveal. It ends shortly after their confrontation.

Summary: Camelot is lost - again. The two sides of a coin face constant obstacles that threaten their goal. Morgana is more vicious than ever. Interfering parties run their course. The personal issues between Arthur and Merlin prevent the cooperation needed to save the kingdom. Mordred is back for - what, exactly? Meanwhile, Arthur's closest confidants must fend for themselves in his absence.

Warning: _Some_ language. There shouldn't be very much. Alternating perspectives - mostly narrated by Arthur. Parts of the plot will be confusing at times. But, rest assured - all should become clear in the end. If not, let me know in a review.

Disclaimer: I can confidently say that I own... nothing! Absolutely nothing. I disclaim.

Read on~

* * *

**[ Chapter One ]**

_The Provisionally Idle_

* * *

"_The genius and the mortal instruments are then in council, and the state of man, like to a little kingdom, suffers then the nature of an insurrection."_

_- _Julius Caesar _(Act II Scene I)_

"It just doesn't _feel _right," Arthur pressed.

Merlin glared unrepentantly at the extensive line of grimy boots before him, and then at their pacing owner.

"You're paranoid," Merlin told him.

"That creature was defeated far too easily," He persisted, "and we never located the sorcerer who conjured it."

"He's likely fled, hasn't he?" Merlin muttered.

"Perhaps… But I suspect we've _missed _something," Arthur tapped an impatient foot and then resumed his pacing, "Nothing felt off to you?"

"Nope, nothing," He shrugged.

"Yes, but you're an idiot," Arthur snorted.

"You might try being nice for once," Merlin suggested.

He scrubbed at a particularly sooty spot on Arthur's boot. He frowned at the resilience of the stain - it wouldn't come off. Much like Arthur. _He _refused to abandon the notion that their latest adventure at the border of Camelot was more than it appeared. Arthur was entirely correct in his assumption, but Merlin resolved to make him see otherwise. The sorcerer in question had called for _Emrys_, not _Arthur_. Merlin had come close to straying from their party, only to be summoned again by the king with a shout of,

[ _"Merlin! What are you _doing _over there?" _]

He intended to return when they'd settled in Camelot. Though naturally, Arthur _would _demand that Merlin polish his boots and then follow him about, ranting.

"Shut up, Merlin," Arthur retorted absently. "Maybe… Maybe I should go back. Should I?"

"No," Merlin said stoutly.

"You're right… I should," Arthur nodded.

"I live in a world where _no _means the _opposite _of yes. Has your hearing gone bad or are they a reverse for you?" He wondered aloud.

Merlin decided he would probably have to travel ahead of Arthur.

…And personally see to it that he was frequently delayed.

"You'll be joining me, won't you, Merlin?"

"I'd really rather -"

"Merlin," Arthur said lightly.

Merlin could still detect the underlying threat in his voice.

"I haven't got a choice, have I?"

"Well, that depends. How do you fancy the stocks?"

* * *

The curtains were drawn, and a golden veil of morning sunlight poured into the chambers. Arthur Pendragon stirred in his sleep, a grimace marring his features.

_Irritation._

There was a faint rustling about his chambers. He bothered not with determining the identity of the person in question. The noise pattern (_folding articles of clothing, gathering scattered silverware, sterilizing his desk_) undoubtedly belonged to James. He would be tidying up his chambers. But Arthur had harbored a sneaking suspicion that he already knew he was awake.

It was a tad repetitive, in Arthur's humble opinion. He would awaken to sunlight intruding upon his sleep; James would fumble about his chamber, feigning naivety and cleaning; Arthur would spend a blissful moment overlooking James's presence. This continued until the two reached the simultaneous, unspoken conclusion that Arthur could not waste the day away in bed and James could not avoid him any longer.

Yes. He knew for a fact that James utterly loathed his company.

And Arthur?

Arthur shared his sentiments wholeheartedly.

"Your Majesty?" Called James from across the room.

He scowled into his pillow.

There were some footsteps, and his voice sounded closer when there was another call of,

"Sire?"

Arthur ground his teeth and sat up in bed to fix his manservant with a glare.

"For God's sake, James. I'm _awake_,"'

Sometimes, Arthur wondered if his heart pumped irritation instead of blood. It would certainly explain why he was so annoyed all the time. Particularly in the presence of James. There was just something incredibly _exasperating_ about him. And God _knew _that Arthur had difficulty tolerating those whom he disliked. With this in mind, he quickly added a snide,

"But you already knew that, didn't you?"

James had the decency to look embarrassed.

Arthur opened his mouth to lash the servant with a scathing retort, when he was interrupted by a voice that belonged to neither himself nor James.

[_ "Come on, that's enough. You've had your fun, my friend." _]

His reply died on his lips.

"Sire?" James hesitated.

Arthur let his eyes fall shut.

"You're dismissed,"

"But you've not dressed yet -"

"_You're dismissed_," This was said firmly, but not harshly.

Arthur put a hand to his face as James shut the door behind him.

It was _far _too early for this.

* * *

Arthur's immediate plans were to join Guinevere for breakfast. His wife was an early riser - very much unlike himself.

Guinevere beamed when he entered the dining room. She was sitting to the right of the chair placed at the head of the table - his chair. She smiled up at him as he approached her,

"Good morning, Arthur."

Arthur knelt and placed a light kiss upon her mouth.

"Guinevere," He murmured.

Her smile was soft and Arthur's ire lessened in the slightest of terms. He took his seat beside her.

"Did you sleep well?"

"I did. And yourself?"

Arthur nodded noncommittally. He ignored the look of concern that crossed his wife's face. She opened her mouth to speak, but Arthur quickly cut her off,

"I'll be training with the knights after breakfast. Gwaine, Percival, Elyan, Leon, and I shall patrol the forest later while the others scour the borders."

"Why? Camelot has been rather peaceful these last five months," Guinevere frowned.

Arthur scowled,

"_Too _peaceful. Morgana's been suspiciously inactive."

"It _is_ a bit strange," She admitted.

"What could she gain by allowing us our peace? The throne to Camelot has been her goal since my father's death," He held his chin in thought and glared hard at the table.

"Do you suppose something has happened to her?" She ventured, pouring her husband a glass of water.

"It's hard to believe. She seems to have grown stronger every time we meet," Arthur shifted so his hands folded beneath his chin.

"Morgana isn't invincible and you've proven that to her," Guinevere placed the pitcher back on the table and leveled Arthur with a stern look.

"Yes, but there's something more to this than meets the eye. I can feel it,"

Guinevere placed a sympathetic hand on Arthur's arm,

"There's no way of knowing with her, Arthur,"

"No, I suppose not," He shook his head.

"We can't dwell on this. All we can do is bide our time, take caution, and wait,"

Arthur stared into her eyes for a long moment and briefly reveled in the epiphany that _this _was why he fell in love with Guinevere. His gaze wandered to his lap.

Guinevere rose from her seat,

"Now then, I'll fetch our breakfast. It's sure to have chilled by now."

* * *

Arthur appraised each of his most trusted knights respectively. From left to right, was Elyan, lean, with a facial structure very much similar to his sister, Percival, burly, yet noble and kind in character, Sir Leon, a smidgen ragged, but a terribly loyal spirit, and then Gwaine, unkempt and every bit as formidable as a sour face would imply.

The four stood in a single line; their backs flawlessly vertical, faces solemn, and listening attentively.

"…Even in times of peace, as these past five months have been, we must be on guard. Morgana is indeed a powerful foe. Regardless of her abilities, she has proven herself to be both deceitful and clever. If there is a hole in our defenses, if we were to grow lazy and idle from peace, she will strike. We shall _not _grant her that opportunity. It is my duty as king and your duties as knights to protect Camelot and its people. Am I understood?"

The knights nodded gravely while Arthur looked on approvingly.

"Draw your swords and pair off," He said solidly. "Gwaine, you're with me."

Gwaine's eyes bore a hard edge,

"With _you_? Am I being punished for something?"

His reply was hardly surprising and Arthur had not expected anything less. There was a word for it Gwaine's general regard for him, an adjective that described his behavior perfectly…

[ _"More… supercilious." _]

That voice manifested as a second conscience, he thought. Arthur suffered from a monotonous moodiness that appeared four and a half months ago and the voice reprimanded him when his treatment of others wasn't especially stellar. It happened more than he cared to admit. He was beginning to believe that although the voice had contaminated his conscience, it seemed to have wormed its way into his brain. Arthur had no idea how to go about fixing this. Worst case scenario said it _couldn't _be fixed.

Thus, Arthur very much wanted to hit something - _hard_.

* * *

The silence was oppressive and distinctly uncomfortable. Utterly, undeniably _unreasonably _uncomfortable. The knights were acutely aware that their king was in a dangerous mood.

Training was finished, and they were to prepare for an 'evaluation of the forest', as Arthur had said. There wasn't a single knight present who would keep him waiting whilst he was flying around on his metaphorical broomstick.

Well, except one, maybe.

Arthur was the first to finish. He stalked from the armory without a word. The four simultaneously sighed with relief.

Elyan was the first to speak,

"I'll go mad if this continues on any longer,"

"Funny, I was thinking the same thing," Percival said dryly. He folded an arm across his chest, gripping his elbow to hold it in place. The process was repeated thrice with a pained grimace.

"Alright, Percival?" Asked Leon.

"Arthur really did a number on you. Gwaine, you really should have just sparred with him. The two of you are closer in skill."

Percival shot his comrade a sharp glance.

"Oh. Er…no offense, Percival,"

"I'm a knight, not an anger management dummy," Gwaine said shortly.

"Gwaine," Leon chided.

"Do you disagree?"

Elyan shifted uncomfortably, he opened his mouth, but appeared to be struggling with his next words. Leon's mouth pursed into a hard, white line.

"Arthur is as he was when the Lady Guinevere was banished. Now it's _Merlin_, and he's going to sulk until he returns,"

"Gwaine, I can't imagine that Merlin _will_ return," Elyan said carefully.

"He will," Gwaine insisted stubbornly, "he always does."

"Merlin is a sorcerer. Magic is forbidden in Camelot. He won't return, Gwaine," Leon's tone was mildly impatient.

"Merlin isn't dangerous. He's loyal. He'll come back to us eventually. To _Arthur_,"

"Merlin is a traitor," Percival said tonelessly. He backpedaled, upon seeing the anger ignite in Gwaine's eyes, "…at least that is how Arthur sees it."

"He forgave the Lady Guinevere,"

"My sister isn't a sorcerer!" Elyan exclaimed indignantly.

"I don't know if Merlin could be allowed in Camelot even if Arthur did manage to overlook his abilities. He feels betrayed. You must remember, next to our Queen, he was the one whom Arthur trusted most. And then to discover he's been lied to all these years…" Leon trailed off.

"I'm still not convinced Arthur made the right decision," Gwaine said hotly.

"Why?" Asked Percival.

"Because I suspect Arthur himself isn't sure of his judgment,"

"How do you figure?" Elyan raised an eyebrow.

"Arthur hasn't spoken to Gaius since he banished Merlin. Not if he could help it, anyway,"

The three stared at Gwaine. He smirked.

"That could mean a number of things," Elyan scowled.

"Yeah? Humor me," Gwaine's smirk widened.

"There hasn't been any conflict in Camelot these past few months. He's got no reason to visit a physician. Arthur's the king - he's busy with more trying matters,"

"Such as?" Gwaine demanded. "Other than training, border patrol, and the occasional speech, what's he got going for him? The most trouble we've had is with bandits. There's plenty of time in between."

The four men paused to glower at one another.

"Fine. Why not ask?"

"_Ask_?" Elyan echoed skeptically.

"Ask Arthur why he hasn't spoken with Gaius since Merlin's exile,"

"Gwaine, are you mad?" Elyan yelped, horrified.

"That would be murder," Percival deadpanned.

"_Don't_," Leon hissed.

"Why?"

"Because that idea is utter rubbish!" Leon thundered. "He'll be furious and have you in the dungeons in the blink of an eye!"

"Arthur wouldn't send me to the dungeons," Gwaine scoffed.

"Can you guarantee it? Personally, I'd not chance my freedom on his mood swings! Promise me - promise me you will not breathe a word of this to Arthur,"

He promptly snorted.

"Gwaine," He repeated, "promise me."

The stubborn knight appraised his comrade with something akin to distaste. He relented with a heavy sigh.

"Alright," He grumbled.

"Do I have your word?"

"_Yes_,"

Leon's tensed posture relaxed.

"Let's hurry," Gwaine growled, "we mustn't keep our drama queen waiting."

* * *

The forest was a nostalgic place. Arthur practically grew up roaming through the woods. Horse riding with his father, hunting, handling bandits - his life may have well been tied to the forest. Yet somehow, he never quite understood it. It still held a particular aura of mystery. He'd spent his youth there, but there were still creatures lurking about which were foreign to him.

Arthur hardly set foot in the forest nowadays. Nine months prior, he paid frequent visits. Whether it was pacifying a vengeful spirit, impressing a princess, or fleeing from Morgana and her henchmen, naturally, it had to take place in the forest. There were no faults in that aside from the _fleeing _part. Cowardice was unacceptable in the knight code.

[ _"You were injured in an attack. You passed out. I had to get you out of there." _]

Arthur duly ignored the indignant voice.

But as it was, his only current purposes in the forest were hunting and the occasional bandit problem. Even five months ago, there had been more action. Arthur's gut told him his suspicions of malignant forces at work would soon be proved correct. And the voice of his gut was his own.

Something was definitely amiss in the forest. There was a sinister feel to its air. The day was of generous weather, there was still a fair bit of sun out, and the breeze was gentle. Birds sang this time around and they might have spotted a few deer or so. The forest was dark though. A thick cloud of darkness enveloped the range. The stillness was utterly stifling, save for the horses, whinnying apprehensively. Horses in particular were known for sensing specifically hazardous creatures. Snakes, per say. There were no snakes though, so Arthur wondered what else was present in the vicinity aside from himself and the knights. Or _who_.

"I suspect magic is at work," Arthur's lip curled in distaste. "We may be facing a sorcerer. Possibly Morgana. We proceed cautiously. Should confrontation be inevitable, we will require a force larger than ourselves if we hope to even pose a challenge to her. One of us shall then return to the castle for reinforcements. Elyan - this task is yours."

"Yes, Sire," He acknowledged Arthur with a firm glance and slight inclination of the head.

The other knights nodded solemnly, though without sparing their king a glance. The circumstances felt too dangerous to look away from their surroundings. Arthur signaled the lot to keep low and creep forward.

They were already well into the forest. The miasma was steadily becoming more foul. Initially, Arthur had suspected Morgana, but he was beginning to reevaluate that theory. Sorcery was evil, but this was an entirely new level of it. This felt like very, very _black _magic.

A shadow fell as a shroud over the landscape. Arthur's brow furrowed. Very slowly, he lifted his head to see the sky. Black as pitch.

"What on earth -" A knight croaked.

An involuntary shudder touched Arthur's frame. Ragged breath escaped his lips in a frigid white mist. It quickly faded, absorbed into the black miasma sifting about the forest. The dark entity was thick and cloudy. It wafted through the trees and swirled in the clearing as a giant mass of contaminated magic.

Arthur glanced at the knights from his peripheral. The posture of the four suggested severe exhaustion. They leaned heavily on their swords and their respective free hands covered noses and mouths. He grimaced. The polluted atmosphere really _was _as harmful as it appeared. Anxiety, and concern for his knights flooded his system. This was a mistake. Coming here, with so little a force, scattering the rest of Camelot's knights throughout the kingdom - it had been a _mistake_. There was strength in numbers.

"Hello, Arthur,"

Her name sounded like a death sentence, even to him.

"Morgana."

She flipped the mane of long black curls over her shoulder. The dark, tight fit dress swayed about her as she approached him.

"This is your doing,"

Morgana smiled pleasantly,

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

"This is black magic,"

"Oh? I thought all magic was 'black',"

Arthur paused.

"If I recall, you claimed I shouldn't fault you for Uther's sins,"

"I don't hunt sorcerers,"

"Yes..." She trailed off and offered him a small smile, "But does my kind have a place in Camelot?"

"Sorcery is forbidden,"

"Of course," She sneered, "you _are _Uther's son, after all."

"And you are his daughter," Arthur replied calmly.

Morgana's face darkened.

"Gorlois is my father,"

"Be that as it may, it is his blood that runs through your veins,"

"Uther's blood is also my right to throne," Morgana's voice trembled.

Arthur observed his half-sister carefully. Her shuddering frame, her perspiring, colorless complexion, the borderline frenzied look about her.

…_Oh_.

Arthur cast a wary glance at his knights. They struggled with their posture, but their venomous expressions were careful reflections of their resolve. Elyan was hardly in the condition to send for assistance. He swore under his breath.

"What are you doing here, Morgana?" Arthur demanded.

Her face smoothed over. The caprice was unnerving in itself.

"I came to give you my greetings…" She smiled.

Arthur narrowed his eyes.

"…And to inform you that we will be seeing each other again very soon."

There was a flash of gold and the world soared overhead. Arthur's head collided with an solid, bumpy surface. The impact rattled his skull. The muscles in his forehead pinched, thin and irritated. His teeth vibrated in his mouth, delegating a jolting buzz to the jaw. Blue eyes unfocused, then rolled to the back of his head. And then there was nothing.

* * *

Morgana Pendragon loomed over the body of her unconscious half-brother. She could have laughed. The inanimate figures of the knights had landed in a formation around Arthur Pendragon. It was ironic, so she could have laughed. But she didn't. She still understood loyalty, so Morgana didn't laugh.

She knelt beside him. It was a troubled sleep. The lines on his face told a story of their own. She might have thought it was the unseemly manner of flying into a tree, or her very presence, but Morgana knew better.

Morgana appraised the insensate knights shrewdly.

"_Onslæp nu ǽr áwreccan_,"

She studied the king closely. The knights had clearly suffered the effects of the miasma. Why hadn't Arthur? She closed her eyes and let the magic build up inside her. Brilliant gold eyes detected crumbling traces of a spell in Arthur's bloodstream. A charm of the sorts. The magical signature could only belong to one person.

Her lip curled.

Morgana stood and thrust an abrupt hand over Arthur's body,

"_Áfyrsian_,"

Satisfied, she retreated from the cluster of unconscious bodies,

"_Forbærne yfel_,"

Nothing.

Morgana's chest contracted, quivering with rage. A bitter, disbelieving laughter touched her thin figure, yet never quite made it past her lips. Her chest heaved again as a result of the suppression. The tree that Arthur had collided with shattered into chips of bark. Morgana and the surrounding bodies were sprinkled with debris. Beside herself with fury, she snarled but a single word, saturated with malice:

"**Merlin**."

* * *

"I don't need to see Gaius," Arthur said firmly.

"Arthur," Guinevere frowned.

She caressed the large lump matted under his thick dark blonde hair. Arthur winced at the contact.

"I don't," He insisted.

"You hit your head," Guinevere said severely, "Injuries of that sort aren't to be taken lightly."

"I don't need to see Gaius, Guinevere," Arthur repeated, "My head is fine."

She narrowed her eyes.

"I once knew a man who was kicked in the head by a horse. I believe his wife told me he also claimed to be alright before he fell asleep that night and never woke again,"

"That was a _horse_. I knocked my head on a tree. There's a difference,"

"Let's not risk it," Guinevere glared at him.

"This is ridiculous,"

"_You're _being unreasonable. Why won't you at least allow him to look you over?"

"Because it's unnecessary!"

Guinevere paused. Her husband stole surreptitious ganders at the door of the throne room. She eyed him perspicuously.

"What? What is it?" Arthur grimaced.

"Arthur…" She said slowly, "this isn't about…Merlin, is it?"

Guinevere peered at him to gauge his reaction, but Arthur abruptly stood and turned away.

"I won't discuss this, Guinevere," The king asserted coldly.

"Arthur - "

"I made the right decision!" He said hotly.

She froze, stunned. She hadn't mentioned _that _even once, but…really? Was that - Had this been -

"Arthur…" She said softly.

His ears were red. Though his back was turned, the small portion of his face touched by the twilight was creeping with a shamed flush.

"He betrayed me. I made the right decision," Arthur murmured.

Guinevere lie a comforting hand on her husband's back, her eyes sad.

"…Didn't I?"

She wrapped her arms around Arthur from behind. He stroked her hands as they clutched the material of his shirt.

"I don't know, Arthur…"

Gwen buried her face into his back.

"I just don't know,"

* * *

Arthur retreated to his quarters. His encounter with Guinevere had left him emotionally drained and exhausted. Despite all objections though, the lump was swelling and it _hurt_.

"Sire?"

Arthur started at the sound of James's voice. How long had he been following?

"I'm alright," He said briskly.

"…No, it's just that - well, we've, er, passed your chambers already,"

Arthur ground his teeth, frustrated. His vision was unsteady, and the world bypassed him as though on horseback.

"Excuse me, Sire,"

There was a slight pressure on his bicep in which Arthur discerned that James had taken to directing him to his chambers. He bristled.

[ "…_There is just no pleasing you sometimes._" ]

Arthur sighed, but held his tongue. Black spots sailed through the castle settings like post-war soot. Assistance was necessary.

The door closed behind James. He idly thought the hinges looked rather like they were flapping as a curtain might.

"Your nighttime clothing, sire?"

"Dis…missed," Arthur slurred. Somehow the syllables sounded wrong in his head. Then he remembered that his head wasn't exactly the most reliable of sources at the moment. His eyes were consecutively blinking. _He _wanted them open, but his eyes seemed to desire a change of scenery. Namely, the inside of his eyelids. Arthur felt himself being lowered onto his bed.

He was gone when his head touched the pillow.

* * *

The rustling was faint, but definitely there. Arthur's mind was muddled with sleep, which was decidedly weird. Ordinarily, he was nearly awake when James arrived. Arthur unsuccessfully attempted to blink the grogginess from his eyes. His first observation told him it was still nighttime. Darkness, to Arthur, told him he should still be asleep. The second observation came to him when he rolled over onto dry leaves. Arthur propped his upper body on his right forearm. He inspected the whole of his bed and reached an alarming conclusion.

There was a trail of dry leaves aligned along the shape of his body. Maple leaves - upon closer scrutiny.

Arthur lifted an arm in a gesture of shock.

"What the -"

The sound of more rustling, followed by footsteps deterred him. He could just barely perceive a figure bumbling about his table from the shadows. Moonlight touched the lower half of his body as he approached. It was a man - lanky, clad in dark clothing, with his eyes trained on a thick, musty book. A bit of light touched his face, and Arthur immediately sat up to level the intruder with wide, incredulous eyes.

"_Merlin_?"


	2. Chapter 2

A big **THANK YOU** to everybody who reviewed, favorited, subscribed, or is following this story. I can't even express how much it meant to me. Especially the reviewers - you guys are amazing.

Read on~

* * *

**[ Chapter Two ]**

_Vice_

* * *

"Gather the horses, Merlin. Provisions as well. I want to leave as soon as possible,"

Merlin unfurled the rich fabric of the king's comforter. His face crinkled with expressive irascibility.

He cleared his throat rather pointedly, and made a blatant, swiping hand gesture toward the erratic covers - that which Arthur had previously ordered him to disperse across his bed,

"Do you want to do this yourself?"

"No," Arthur's nose wrinkled in distaste, "go on."

"_Thank you_,"

The comforter - a luxuriant, noble, red - was sized vertically to parallel the shape of the bed, lest Arthur nag him about his covers brushing the floor.

"And what will you be doing?"

"I'll be here, waiting. You can fetch me when you're finished," Arthur smiled.

"Oh, _yes_, sir," Merlin said sardonically. He eyed the creases in the blanket critically. With a single, expeditious motion, he whisked it into the air, and the covers drifted gently back to the bed, free of rumples.

Arthur scowled.

"Will I find you with Gwen?"

"Why?"

"Because you have to tell her we're leaving," Merlin quirked an eyebrow.

"If it's really nothing - just as you said - we should be returning fairly quickly,"

"Arthur…" Merlin groaned. "There's this thing about being married, you see, -"

"You're _married_?!" Arthur said incredulously.

"No. But _you _are. And I think, at some point throughout the day, your wife will wonder where her husband has gone off to," Merlin circled around to the right side of Arthur's bed and reached across to tug the top of the comforter beneath the pillows. He drew the bottom down to touch the bed skirt, but not without certifying that it didn't touch the floor.

"Of course _you'd_ know, being a woman yourself," Arthur muttered.

Merlin amused himself with thoughts of hexing his master. He fancied Arthur would appreciate transfiguration into an actual donkey this time. It fit him perfectly.

"Oh, hush, Arthur. What would _you _do if Gwen disappeared?"

Arthur's eyebrows knit together in concern.

"Myself and the kingdom would be searching high and low for her," He said seriously.

"Exactly. Now, how do you anticipate she might have reacted if you set off without a word, intentionally?"

Arthur blanched.

Merlin nodded, pleasantly gratified. He found that, should he give Arthur a nudge in the right direction, he could arrive at these conclusions himself.

"Alright, then, off you go," Merlin waved a dismissive hand at the king. "Be a good husband and fulfill your husbandly duties to your wife."

"Merlin? We've talked about this. Which of us gives the orders?"

"The king, I suppose?"

"And who's the king?"

"I don't think you want to meet him. He isn't the nicest bloke around,"

"I'd say otherwise!" Arthur snorted. "He will be needing a new manservant though. It seems the other one tripped and fell through a sword. He was always terribly clumsy."

Thus, Arthur patted his sword meaningfully.

"Really? Are you sure he tripped?"

"Yes," Arthur said - although his impish expression implied otherwise, " it was a complete accident."

"An accident? You don't say…"

"Shut up, Merlin. Do as you're told. Those supplies should be ready by the time I'm done speaking with Guinevere,"

"Oh, _fine_,"

"And, Merlin?"

"Hm?"

"Find me as soon as you're done. You have an irritating tendency to wander at inconvenient times, and, I couldn't say how, but you're never found."

Merlin rolled his eyes.

"Yes, Arthur,"

The warlock left the king's chambers in favor of the kitchens. There was a meticulously concealed stain of guilt lacing his features. He wouldn't disappear before their journey, but it was an inevitability somewhere along their foreboding path to the truth.

* * *

"_Merlin_?"

Merlin started at Arthur's voice. Eyes widening, and one leg thrusting itself in front of the other, he stumbled over his feet. He lost his grip on the ancient text and then scrambled to catch it.

Should Arthur not have invested himself in a stupefied torpor, he might have scoffed at the ridiculous display. While magic could accomplish much, apparently, clumsiness was incurable.

"Oh. Oh, _hell_. Um. Ah, I mean - _hello_, A-Arthur,"'

"You're stuttering," Arthur noted distantly.

Daunted color rose in Merlin's cheeks, and dwindled just as quickly. The moonlight stealing over his pale features colored him a ghastly white.

_White as a ghost._

A perfectly suitable expression for Merlin. And, ironic it was. Often times, man questioned his sanity in the presence of a ghost - he could never quite confirm that he was actually seeing that which stood before him. This, Arthur felt, was his calming factor. He could imagine himself in a volcanic outburst should he have been sure that Merlin was here. His chambers were located deep within the castle. Penetration to this extent was utterly unthinkable. Though, Arthur knew that Merlin could not be a ghost. He couldn't say _how _he knew, he just _did_, and the prospect of Merlin as a ghost was unfathomably disconcerting.

At this point, Arthur was struggling to conjure some semblance of logic to explain the person standing before him. He lie back against his pillows and winced against the curious sound of a _crunch _beneath him.

"You great prat!" Merlin cried suddenly.

"Excuse me?" Arthur blinked at the sharpness of the latter's expression.

"Those leaves! Who gave you permission to crush those leaves? They belong to _me_," He said indignantly. "It wasn't easy getting them."

"They're maple leaves," Arthur mumbled.

"_So_?" Merlin squawked.

"Maple trees are a vastly abundant resource,"

"Well, that just shows how little you know. Honestly - ignorant, as well as supercilious. They aren't ordinary maple leaves. If they were, my journey was a waste of time," Merlin huffed. He stalked back to Arthur's dining table and collected a compact wooden box from the brown surface. He returned to the bedside, knelt, and brushed the shattered remains of leaf from the sheets. Merlin paused a moment to observe the ruined bits on the floor and then met the king's eyes very seriously,

"I am _not _cleaning that up,"

Arthur frowned. There were still too many unknown variables, so he had not entirely grasped how to go about reacting. Merlin's presence was impossible no matter how he regarded the situation. Magic - he might have wondered, but it would take a certain degree of skill to infiltrate the heart of Camelot. Merlin wasn't _that _formidable.

Arthur's head throbbed in protest. He hated variables -

_His head. _

"I'm hallucinating!" Arthur declared.

"Oh, look at you," Merlin said proudly, "figuring it out all on your own. _Somebody's _maturing. Now tell me, how did you do it?"

"Obviously, it would be the head trauma, _Merlin_," Arthur smirked.

Merlin choked.

"Did you say _head trauma_? How did this happen?"

"Morgana," Arthur said airily.

Merlin cursed under his breath. Arthur gazed at him in wonder, having never heard the former swear prior.

"You've had Gaius check you for a concussion, right?"

"I don't _need_ to see Gaius!" Arthur said loudly.

Merlin looked irritated. Arthur thought he might have tried to hide it, but he didn't appear to be at all.

"…Dollophead," He said eventually.

Merlin opened the wooden box; Arthur leaned over the lid to peer at the contents.

"More leaves," He deadpanned.

"Yes," Merlin smiled fondly, "more leaves."

He amassed a spare few and leveled the king with an expectant look

"Lie back and keep still. You've already got prat, dollophead, and clotpole going for you. I wouldn't want to add _leaf-crushing twit _to the list,"

"Why?"

"What does it matter? This is a hallucination, remember?" Merlin snorted.

Arthur considered the question: What _did _it matter?

"Go on then - quickly,"

He obliged, albeit reluctantly, and Merlin made to fill in the gap of tree foliage lining Arthur's body.

"_Nerian æt láð_,"

The leaves radiated a vivid green, divulging a network of thin, intricate veins. The tall, awkwardly shaped oval generated the image of one king, beset of a cluster of glowing green stars. The hues of the leaves merged together, and produced a crystalline shaft of sage green light. The dazzling image flickered, and the leaves absorbed the vivacious color of the ritual.

"Alright. Mission accomplished," Merlin grinned.

Ah. Merlin performing magic in his chambers. That in itself was undeniable proof that this was a hallucination. The sheer _audacity _of such an action was utterly astounding.

"Are you leaving?"

"I probably should," Merlin admitted with some regret.

"Don't hurry back, now. You've overstayed your welcome,"

"It's your fault. If you really wanted me gone, I wouldn't be speaking to you right now,"

Arthur chuckled.

Clearly, that wasn't the reaction Merlin was hoping for, because he made a face at him,

"I'm _leafing _now."

"Humor is not your forte, Merlin,"

"And _you're _a prat,"

A mere few words of low tone were uttered under Merlin's breath, evoking an alteration in the shade of his eye color.

"Bye, Arthur," He said diplomatically.

"Goodbye, Merlin," Arthur nodded.

And he was gone.

The disappointment simmered mildly. This was a hallucination. The leaves, the magic, the banter, the _normality _between the two was acceptable.

* * *

James lie a noiseless hand on the knob of the door and drew it open very slowly. He poked his head through to scan the room, and, seeing that the king was still asleep, slipped inside. And the king _was _asleep - he could tell. It was quite simple, really. The breath of a slumbering body was light and leisurely, as opposed to the form of one who was plainly closing their eyes, at which point, the eyelids trembled and the breath was swifter. It was standard, yet tacit knowledge among servants.

Disgust.

Exasperation.

Either described his aversion to the king's chambers. He cleaned every morning. The transition of a clean, orderly room to a pigsty was utterly baffling. James had heard stories about his predecessor - _Merlin_, his sources called him. Merlin had worked under Arthur Pendragon for years, and he just needed to know how in the hell he'd managed these chambers. It was admirable. James always knew Merlin was an admirable person. They'd never actually spoken, but Merlin had defended his honor once all those years ago…

James considered himself a braver man since.

Though he wouldn't go so far as to constitute sassing the king. His peers claimed that Merlin addressed the king with insulting terms such as _prat _or _dollophead_ (what _was _a dollophead?) to his face. TO HIS _FACE_. James pondered the king's reaction should _he _call him either of those things, what with him and his moods. He shuddered in horror.

Strangely, there were days throughout the years he would see the two together, and, if he hadn't known Arthur Pendragon to be the king of Camelot and Merlin, his servant, he'd have taken them as mates. James could not truthfully say he wished to befriend the king; indifference was preferable. Unfortunately, the king possessed nothing but disdain for him. James approached a knight whom he knew as Gwaine a while back to investigate the issue - because, when one's master was openly antagonistic toward his manservant, life became more taxing than was strictly necessary. Gwaine's reply had been most unhelpful.

[ _"You aren't Merlin." _]

_Most unhelpful_. Most servants may have taken offense, but James was only displeased because his job wasn't about to become any less burdening.

The king stirred in his sleep, and James was nearly finished tidying the chambers fit for barbarians, rather than an individual of notable status. He started awake and appraised the room with foggy blue eyes. James made for the curtains, but stopped when he spotted something at the foot of the bed.

Withered leaves.

His face twisted into a grimace. If the king happened upon _that_, he was due for an accusation of negligence and then a day in the stocks. Determined to salvage himself from an undesirable sort of fate, he approached the bed and stamped on the leaves, pushing them underneath with the sole of his shoe. Arthur Pendragon blinked up at him, evidently puzzled with James's peculiar behavior; the king's demeanor was quick to sour.

"What are you _doing_?"

James tried at a weak smile, but it faltered and died countering the glower. His face fell. He briefly entertained thoughts of resigning his position.

_The circus might be nice. I hear acrobatics are a lively trade…_

* * *

Arthur wasn't entirely coherent until the face of his servant loomed over him from his bedside. The incredulity lasted but a moment; it was quickly replaced with the familiar churn of irritation. James managed a wan smile. Which was ridiculous, because there was absolutely nothing that merited a smile of any sort. Though, Arthur abandoned the harangue when James adopted a detached look. His manservant demoted himself to a basket case, and lecturing a basket case was a lost cause. He'd caught Merlin with that expression more than once over the years and readily understood that raising his voice or cuffing him about the head were the only ways to be heard. He wasn't willing to put that sort of effort in for James.

_Merlin_.

Arthur shook his head, utterly disgusted with himself. Hallucination or not, that frivolous behavior had _not _been acceptable. His head clearly malfunctioned last night and turned him traitor to his own morals. Associating so affably with an enemy - even amidst a hallucination, it was treacherous.

A surge of pain assaulted Arthur's head, as if his body too, was responding negatively to the moral transgression.

He removed himself from the bed and waited for James to gather his clothes.

Whilst his manservant helped him dress, Arthur marked there to be no leaves on the floor. None of the proclaimed leaves Merlin refused to clean. He'd hardly doubted the previous night's fiasco to be anything other than a hallucination, but it still satisfied him to have concrete proof.

"Sire?" James motioned toward the small table beside the bed.

Sitting on the very edge of the table was a clear vial containing a honey-colored liquid. Arthur held it under the sun and scrutinized the murky gold with a furrowed brow.

"What is it?"

"I wouldn't know,"

"Did anybody come in here last night?"

James hesitated.

"Gaius… I believe,"

Guinevere must have visited the physician in his stead. It was alright to accept the medicine, Arthur mused, he hadn't actually _seen _Gaius.

Without further ado, he plucked the leathery cork off, and put the vial to his lips.

"How are they?"

Guinevere was leaning against the door frame of the infirmary, her arms folded into each other and pressed firmly against her middle.

She shook her head.

"Gaius ventures that Morgana's bewitched them,"

"They were already unconscious when I came to. Is there no cure?"

"I'm sure Gaius is doing all he can," Guinevere said patiently. Sad brown eyes looked on to the comatose forms of her brother, and the other three knights of whom she'd grown to fondness over the years. The sight of her husband was grievous. His eyes were the boundless expanse of ocean from the cliff's refuge.

The anguish Arthur was smothering - Guinevere yielded herself to feel it in his stead. The incapacitation of his most faithful knights; the betrayal of his truest friend; the obligation to Camelot - to uphold and secure it in the midst of peril. The crippling damage struck her.

And yet her husband persevered, unscathed by the dagger, and anesthetized to his own emotions.

Arthur rummaged through his pockets and produced a slim vial, long emptied of its contents. He gazed at the glass thoughtfully and pressed it into Guinevere's hands.

"Could you return this to Gaius?"

"This is a medicine flask," She blinked. "You changed your mind?"

"No," Arthur frowned at her. "I thought you spoke with him."

"I'll have a word with Gaius about it," She shook her head, bemused.

Guinevere closed her eyes against the brush of Arthur's lips on her cheek.

"Later, then," He murmured.

"Yes, I'll see you later," Guinevere replied, a soft smile playing at her mouth.

She watched his figure glide away. In that moment, time seemed to slow. With his back so broad, his gait so proud - she felt she was losing him, that they would not see each other again for a very long time.

She bit her lip.

"My Lady?"

Guinevere startled.

"Oh, Gaius," She held a hand to her heart, "you gave me a fright."

The physician closed the door behind him and scrutinized his queen with the raise of an eyebrow.

"My apologies," He paused, "…Are you alright?"

She recognized it to be profoundly insensitive of her to profess to Gaius her quandaries as of late. Especially since a majority of them revolved around the exile of Merlin, which, admittedly, she had yet to form an opinion of her own concerning the matter. Arthur's bearing of that day was all Guinevere had to go off. It would be a grave understatement to say she was crushed to hear Merlin was a traitor. She'd been _heart-broken_. Guinevere trusted her husband. She'd not have believed it from any but him. Her feelings were null compared to Gaius's pain. Guinevere smiled at the old man whom she'd confided with in her adolescence.

"Of course,"

Gaius returned the gesture and made to examine the bedfast knights, leaving Guinevere to her despairing uncertainty. She shook the grisly thoughts from her mind.

"Arthur asked me to return this to you," She fished the vial from the folds of her elegant dress.

"Thank you," Gaius said.

"… How did you know?" She inquired quietly.

"Pardon?"

"Arthur's head injury. How did you know?"

"Word travels fast around the castle," He replied simply.

Guinevere tilted her head in question.

"I have my sources," Gaius gave a sly smile, his blue eyes twinkling mischievously.

"Gaius…" She said tolerantly, a near tint of fondness creeping into her tone.

His smile turned almost teasing.

"I trust Arthur's head feels better?" He asked conversationally, "This often helped him as a boy. I'd have him drink it before bed and his head would feel normal again by morning…"

Guinevere frowned.

"Would the remedy make a difference if it were consumed at morning?"

"Oh, my…"

"Gaius?"

"I'd administer it before bed because it had him out the whole night,"

The clear harmony of the emergency alarm resounded throughout Camelot in an unfortunate climax of circumstance, yet with an almost impeccably ironic timing. The two exchanged timorous expressions.

"Gaius!" She cried. "You're the Court Physician! He should have been informed!"

"I left a note beneath the vial. He couldn't have missed it…" Gaius trailed off, perplexed.

"We have to stop him!" Guinevere tugged on Gaius's sleeve fearfully. "He'll be killed!"

* * *

It would save time to armor himself, Arthur decided. There was a crisis at hand and he could be endangering his people in the duration of summoning James. Knights were likely scoping out the scene and he needed to mount a horse and get there - _now_.

The armor was on as quickly as he could manage. He already felt he'd wasted too much time. The padding, the chain mail, the shin guards - how did servants do it all so impetuously? Arthur slipped his sword through the hook on his belt. His fist curled around the hilt_._

There was a passageway near the armory that led to the stables. The passageway was a tunnel - more precisely - comprised of stone, and with a path of dirt. It had been built for the knights' convenience; and Arthur was really quite irritated because it wasn't at all convenient. Time was of the essence and he was _wasting _it. Wasting it with this - with this infernal tripping! Stumbling! Blundering!

_Where in the hell had all these roots come from?_

Arthur thought he might have been having a bit of bad luck when the torches in the tunnel blew, or perhaps when he happened over his first root. Then he landed in a heap of mud and things got frustrating.

It was every other step and he was on the ground again. He must have been imagining it - or perhaps Gaius's medicine was losing its touch - because it seemed as though these roots were omitting the entire cultivating process undergone by plants and unearthing themselves before his very eyes. There must have been some force elsewhere determined to impede him from aiding his comrades, Arthur concluded, and cursed them vehemently, because he needed _something _to blame.

Arthur growled.

He would make it out of this tunnel, damn it!

Arthur stood again and a root encircled his ankles. The forward shift of his body disagreed with his knotted ankles; his arms flailed helplessly and the momentum balanced him for an instant. He alighted in an ungraceful tangle of limbs.

_Sod it._

He would crawl, dignity besmirched! He mounted himself onto all fours. Left arm, right knee, right arm, left knee. Left arm, right knee, right arm - Arthur contended forward, but to no avail. He peered behind him.

Another thick cord of dark vine bound his waist.

Arthur twitched.

* * *

"The situation?" Arthur grunted.

"The situation…?" The guard blinked.

"The situation. _What is it_?" Arthur ground out. He'd finally succeeded in attaining a horse. He could already be on his way if this fool would only cooperate…

"The witch was sighted in the forest. A horde of knights was sent to check out the area, but I've not heard back from them,"

Arthur nodded briskly. He lightly whipped his horse with the reins. The rush of scenery flying past him was a tad disorienting. He shook his head and pushed onward.

Little time was spent riding into the forest. A sense of foreboding mixed with the wind and ruffled his hair. Somewhere within these trees, was Morgana. Her ominous whisper teased his ear, promising to return. A harmless trail of miasma braved its first steps on the forest border. The shadow of pollution obfuscated the clean air into a black fog. But the darkest, most somber expanse - _that _was where he would find Morgana.

The heart of the forest.

It was straight ahead. He urged the horse to run faster, but noises of protest from the horse told him that it would not go any farther, as, it too could sense the danger. He tugged on the reins, and the horse progressively came to a stop. The king gave his horse a final pat on the side.

Arthur ambled into the defoliated glade.

* * *

Guinevere nearly barreled over Arthur's servant in her haste. He looked appropriately startled, and justifiably wary. She apologized profusely.

"Have you seen Arthur?" Gaius interjected.

"Not since this morning," James frowned.

"We'll have to stop him ourselves. There shouldn't be any knights left in the court and the guards aren't to be moved from the castle," She said.

"Might I suggest that you remain here?" Gaius grasped his hands together and let them dangle tolerantly.

"Gaius, Arthur is my husband," Guinevere said seriously.

"Arthur is also a knight, Your Highness; the queen should protect the kingdom in the king's absence,"

Guinevere bit her lip,

"You can't go by yourself - it's too dangerous."

"Of course not," Gaius said pleasantly, "James will accompany me."

"I will?" James puzzled, sounding genuinely intrigued by the prospect.

"Oh, won't you?" Guinevere implored.

James stiffened, visibly mollified at a direct request from the queen.

"Y-Yes, Your Highness,"

Guinevere smiled. She placed a companionable hand on Gaius and James's shoulders.

"Please be careful. I want you two to return safely," She said earnestly.

Gaius nodded reassuringly. James stifled his discomfort at the undesirable physical contact and gave an almost imperceptible dip of the head.

She escorted the pair to the castle porch. Horses were summoned by a guard; the king's servant and the Court Physician climbed onto their backs. Guinevere sent them off with a auspicious beam, so as to ignore the fiery pit of dread inside her stomach.

* * *

Arthur was not prepared for what he saw.

He was hallucinating again. This - this - this _nightmare _simply couldn't be real. Utterly unconceivable it was, and Arthur did naught but stare and rue that he hadn't arrived sooner.

Morgana stood in the center of the clearing. Before her, were fallen knights. Circles - hauntingly circular alignments of fallen knights. Contemptible miasma breezed about her and the knights like a shroud of death. Arthur couldn't tell if there was movement in their chests.

"I've returned - as promised,"

Arthur registered a voice, and it was articulating - but he couldn't quite hear the words. The sobering picture of his comrades' slack faces entranced him. Numbness permeated his mind, and a pulsating wave of heat intermingled with his blood. Morgana, the knights, and the miasma flickered, the color scales of black polluted magic and the filter of sunlight blurred into one another, and vanished altogether. He was seeing red, the kind of fiery red commonly beheld when one closed their eyes and conducted a direct appraisal of the Sun.

"What have you done to them?" He barked.

The red-hot surge of anger oscillated and then drained from his vision. He found the distance between himself and his half-sister had decreased significantly. His sword was drawn, poised to attack, but his body was rigid and unmoving. Furious blue eyes swiveled toward the witch, who hindered his maneuvers with a single hand.

"Your temper, Arthur," Morgana said, "was always your fatal flaw. Somebody you care about has been harmed, and you lose your head. Your temper overrides your sense, and you recklessly charge the perpetrator like a beast. There was a remote contingency that I might be in Camelot, and you've arrived by yourself. That particular vice in your character, dear brother, cannot hope to stand by itself against a witch."

Arthur snarled.

"And that quality, is also what has brought you here _alone_,"

Arthur flinched, thrown by that which he hadn't yet considered. The knights of the Round Table flanked him during battle. They fought alongside him; and if they were unable, Merlin -

Arthur swallowed.

He _was _alone.

"You've no one to protect you this time. _He _is the only reason you've survived this long. His magic has kept you alive until now, Arthur!"

"I allied myself with a sorcerer once, and I lived to regret it, but I've never engaged in battle beside one," He said steadily.

"You don't _know_, Arthur, You've never known! Even now…" She hissed.

"I won't be made into a hypocrite twice, Morgana!" Arthur's voice escalated. "There is no such sorcerer with honorable intentions for Camelot!"

There was a long silence. Morgana scrutinized him with an unreadable expression. Her eyes flashed with resentment.

"…Emrys is a fool,"

"Emyrs?" The name tasted peculiar on his tongue, yet stimulated a comfortable sensation of familiarity. She had mentioned it once prior - that he was certain. Though, he lacked a face to match the title.

"Yes, Arthur. Emrys!"

"I don't know a person by that name," Arthur avowed.

"Emrys. _Emrys_! You don't know who Emrys is, Arthur? You don't, do you? I do! I know Emrys! I know who he is now! Deceitful, lying, Emrys!" Morgana shrieked.

Arthur's body was compelled to tense. Morgana still had him constrained in a magical paralysis. A wild sort of look similar to yesterday's seized her again and the loss of his own faculties left him feeling vulnerable. The adrenaline rush was deserting him, much like the water that trickled from a spilled canteen. Vigor slowly ebbed from his energy pool, and his limbs were beginning to feel rather limp.

The effects of Morgana's binding spell, he deduced.

Morgana exhaled and leveled him with a chilling solemnity.

"Yes, Emrys cannot interfere this time,"

Apprehension arrested Arthur, as it seemed as if she was repeating this to herself instead of him. She approached him, and while Arthur should have been bracing himself, he just felt vastly _exhausted_.

"What's wrong, Arthur? Tired?" Morgana simpered.

He tried to return with a bold look of defiancy and failed miserably. Morgana simply smirked and pulled a small piece of paper from a crevice in her dress. She unfolded the parchment, presenting it to him with an infuriating smugness. Arthur's eyes were inhumanly heavy and he was only able to distinguish the words _medicine_, _drowsiness_, and _Gaius_. Somehow, those three words wove an entire story. He was completely at the mercy of the witch. Morgana leaned forward, eliminating such scope, that the only thing he could see was her eyes.

"Camelot will be mine," She whispered softly.

Arthur's stomach flopped. He thought of Guinevere, the knights, his _people_. Sheer will flared through his veins for a single moment, and gave him the strength to shout,

"I AM THE KING OF CAMELOT! I WILL NOT LET HARM BEFALL MY PEOPLE! YOU WILL FACE _ME_!"

There was a powerful stillness that followed Arthur's emotional proclamation. Morgana was visibly unfazed. She tilted her head, and a shadow fell over her face. A shuddering breath escaped Arthur's mouth, and the fatigue loomed over him, stronger than ever. Penetrating pale green eyes met blue, and, in that moment, it felt as though she was staring through him to his soul.

"You would not stand a chance in your current state. You've changed - and I won't face you with those eyes,"

She spoke with such a sagely wisdom that he was reminded of another. Bewildering as it was, it was this that made him believe it was true. For the first time in years, Arthur was sincerely afraid.

Morgana stepped away from him. She lowered her hand, breaking the spell. Arthur dropped his sword and fell to his knees, panting.

"_Cylcan á æt oferlád bæcern_,"

There was a long, thin string of light that gradually lengthened vertically into a wide window of light. An invisible force pressed against his chest, gravitating him toward the opening. Just as he was certain he was to be consumed, _another _casement of light appeared in front of him. An indescribable feeling apprehended his senses, as he was caught in between two forces - one pulling him forward, and the other dragging him back. His eyes darted to Morgana, who gaped at the second light with a stark terror.

"No. No!" She cried, shaking her head frantically.

The width of the second panel elongated , and the suction hauled him toward it. He shut his eyes to the blinding illumination, and a last heave had him drifting - _falling _into the shaft of light. The passage was long, and he was rapidly losing touch with reality. A final gravitational force weighed on his being. It was by far the heaviest, and he was sent tumbling from the portal. Arthur rolled onto a soft bed of grass. Above him, was a mass of green trees. Golden rays of sunshine pooled onto his face. He blinked at the curious change of scenery, before the effects of the physician's medicine absorbed him completely.

* * *

James and Gaius drew the reins on their horses. The majestic creatures grumbled unhappily, but ceased galloping immediately. James jumped from the horse's back. He circled around to help the elderly physician from his horse.

"Thank you," Gaius murmured distractedly.

James peered ahead of their path. That black residue was most certainly _not _reassuring. He pursed his lips. The circus was sounding great about now.

"Ready?"

He nodded, but not without reluctance. Together, the two accessed the clearing. James coughed - the miasma was absolutely stifling.

"Alright, Gaius? …Gaius?"

The physician's face had gone white. Concerned, James turned to see the object of Gaius's bane: every knight who had been sent to investigate the witch lie unconscious. A little ways away from the grotesque sight, was the King's sword - but there was no king present. Said witch's profile stood eerily motionless. It was James's first time seeing a witch in close quarters. She was of average height for a grown woman, with pale skin, a slim figure, and a long, tight, black dress that matched her dark curls. The witch might have passed for an ordinary woman, but there was an innate aura about her that contradicted this - an innate quality that told James it was too late for her to be an ordinary woman. His body tensed reflexively, much as it did in the presence of a snake when he wasn't certain it wouldn't strike him. The position of Gaius's body mirrored his own, James noticed.

The witch's movement was sudden, and very much startled the king's servant. She stared at them. Comprehension dawned on him; it was her eyes that made her a witch. He knew no other whose eyes held such unbalance.

"It is time,"

Among the trees, emerged dozens of silhouettes. Figures, James hadn't even seen until now. Their gliding gait was like that of a ghost. James gazed at them in horror. They, who, as they slithered from the trees, shed their invisibility charm, so that the translucency melt from their figures like paint, defining human bodies clad in dark green cloaks.

The witch's lips twisted into a wicked smile,

"Seize them."


	3. Chapter 3

Hi. I'm not dead, by the way - just busy. Hope I still have readers.

Thanks to everybody who reviewed, I really appreciate it.

Also, **language alert** in this chapter.

* * *

**[ Chapter Three ]**

_The Incessantly Assiduous_

* * *

Having _readied the horses and gathered supplies_, Merlin slid to the floor and curled into himself against the wall parallel to the throne room. He might have closed his eyes, except that if Arthur were to see him and assume he was sleeping…well, Merlin polished those boots of his regularly, and he was fully aware that if he were to be kicked in the side repeatedly, it would _hurt_. Still, it _would _be nice to rest…

The throne room doors parted smoothly; Arthur and Guinevere emerged in linking arms. Merlin smiled pleasantly, even when Arthur scrutinized him distastefully.

"Merlin," He acknowledged sourly. "Look at you. How on earth does the laziest of servants become even _lazier_?"

"Thy servant doth grow lazier, as thy master doth grow fatter," Merlin said sagely.

His grin broadened in direct proportions to the twitching vein in Arthur's forehead.

"Now, now," Gwen mediated with an ill-concealed smile. Her arm tightened around her husband's when he attempted to break free, quite possibly to strangle Merlin.

"You're forgetting, Merlin. I could arrange for you to be _in _the stocks while we travel," Arthur managed through ground teeth.

"Well, how would that work?" Merlin raised an eyebrow.

"It's your job to figure that out," Arthur said smugly.

He had, though. He knew of countless ways in which he could make it work… using magic of course.

"You could push me along," Merlin offered.

Arthur laughed, loudly.

"I could always hire a sorcerer, I suppose," Merlin noted.

"Do it, and see what happens," Arthur glared at him.

"What?" Merlin challenged. "Are you going to eat us while we sleep?"

"Alright, then. That's enough," Guinevere clapped her hands to disrupt the murderous aura emitting from her husband. She eyed him warily; he appeared as though he might tackle Merlin and take his head off with his own neckerchief. "You boys had better be off, wouldn't you say?"

Merlin nodded amiably. He glanced at his master, and, having decided that Arthur already intended to carve him up like the Round Tables' turkey dinner, he threw caution to the wind.

"It's good of you to support Arthur's expedition, Your Highness," Merlin said lightly.

Guinevere granted him a radiant smile,

"It's no trouble. I'm glad to do it."

"I honestly thought you would be angrier," Merlin continued, "Considering that he originally meant for us to leave without a word."

Both Pendragons grew very still.

"Arthur - a word," Guinevere said stiffly. She spun on her heel and stalked back into the throne room. Arthur leveled his servant with a withering, poisonous glare promising of death and destruction. Merlin, however, smiled contentedly when the doors slammed shut. He leaned into the wall comfortably, and closed his eyes.

* * *

Merlin turned an arm over his head and tugged on the wrist that dangled near his ear.

_CRACK_.

He flexed his upper body to the left -

_CRACK_.

…and then to the right.

_CRACK_.

Merlin cringed. Handy as inventing a personalized teleportation spell had been, the effects were taxing on his body. A few incantations of the spell had him stiff as a suit of armor for days. The spell worked wonders though, and Merlin was extremely pleased with himself. All his years in Camelot taught him that most sorcerers favored flashy entrances. Merlin, the individual among most sorcerers, preferred to conduct his monthly business with the utmost reserve. Because, no - the chopping block simply _wasn't _for him. Who would protect the king's royal fanny?

Merlin smiled at the door a spare distance down the hall - Arthur's room. He'd not spoken to Camelot's National Dollophead in months. It had been…nice to have a normal conversation - if only because Arthur had convinced himself that Merlin was a figment of his imagination invoked by a head injury.

A head injury?

Merlin frowned.

Gaius's door was unlocked - fortunately. He must have been expecting him. Merlin twisted the small brass handle, and the door hinge gave a rather loud _squeak_, as it swung open. Warily, he glanced to the left, the right, then left again. A curious guard may have heard the damning noise. There was no sign of human consciousness though, so Merlin slipped into the physician's chambers.

Gaius's quarters were as he remembered them, which was uncannily ironic, considering the gravity of change that had taken place over the past several months. The wooden tables scattered across the room were covered with chemicals, herbs, tools, and archaic text books. Merlin smiled a bit sadly at Gaius's slumbering figure in the corner. He approached the small bed and drew the blankets to the old man's shoulders. His eyes wandered to the closed door of his own room. He was compelled to revisit it, just for nostalgia's sake.

It was exactly how he'd left it. Save for the ghostly veil of dust coating the furniture, he might have been here only yesterday. His bed was unkempt - rumpled from a disturbed, fretful night's sleep. He might have woken there this very morning. Merlin collapsed atop the comfortable mattress, and stifled the sneeze rising from the thin, stale quilt. Relaxation nearly coaxed a contented sigh from Merlin's lips, but then it took all of one moment for him to remember that this wasn't what he came here to do. There was no home for him in Camelot. He heaved the door shut behind him with such a clamorous _bang _that his heart rate accelerated, fearing he aroused Gaius.

Merlin appraised the sleeping physician guiltily. He didn't _want _to wake him, but he needed to hear the whole story regarding Morgana's little expedition to Camelot. There was also a small, selfish part of him that just _really _wanted to hear Gaius's voice.

"Gaius?"

The physician rolled over. Merlin lowered himself beside the sluggish figure and prodded his shoulder softly, ignoring the irksome tickle of hot breath on his wrist.

"Gaius?"

"…Hm? Merlin?" Gaius mumbled sleepily, before his eyes shot open and he sat up, fully awake, "Merlin!"

Gaius enveloped him in a tight embrace, to which Merlin responded with no less affection. When the elderly man pulled away, he leveled Merlin with a reproving frown.

"You're thinner,"

"I've always been lean," Merlin said lightly.

"You've got bags under your eyes too, Merlin,"

Merlin's lips parted, and he nearly launched another ingenious quip at the physician. He observed the harsh lines that creased around Gaius's pursed mouth and his sharp blue eyes. Merlin gave a very brief, yet conspicuous pause, and faltered altogether. His posture drew together and he gazed at the man with a strained exhaustion.

"I don't mean to hound you," Gaius said gently. His pointed appraisal dissipated and was replaced with a bit of guilt. "It's just I fear you're exhausting yourself."

"The spell was a success again this month. I'm not completely useless yet." Merlin smiled.

"I hardly think _you_, Merlin, would ever be useless," Gaius firmly grasped either side of the covers and slid his legs off the bed. He gave a powerful thrust to propel himself to his feet. The old man swayed from exertion, and was immediately steadied by the young warlock.

"Hopefully not. Camelot would be short of a king," Merlin mused. "Although, it seems we've had quite a close call recently. He told me Morgana gave him a concussion."

"I hadn't heard about - Merlin! Did you just say that he _told _you?"

"It was a complete accident, I swear," Merlin said seriously, "The nutter convinced himself I was a hallucination. I'm lucky he's a clotpole,"

"A hallucination?" Gaius echoed. He approached one of the tables and cleared a bit of the mess strewn across the surface.

Merlin nodded solemnly. His head fell forward, casting a severe shadow across his pale cheeks. His mouth disappeared into a defining line on his face and his blue eyes were as cold and hard as stone.

Morgana shouldn't have been anywhere _near _Arthur.

"What's happened here, Gaius?"

Gaius regarded the startlingly dark expression with a concerned uneasiness. He turned his back to the young man, sorting about the clutter for the proper mix.

"I'm afraid I can't give you the whole story; I was given the gist of it myself. Arthur and the knights had gone to inspect the borders -"

"Why?"

"I couldn't say," He admitted.

"_I'd _say it's because he's a paranoid blockhead," Merlin snorted.

"The lot of them encountered Morgana in the forest. Arthur and the knights were said to be unconscious when reinforcements were sent to investigate the scene. In the midst of their being transported back to the castle, Arthur awoke and gave a simplified conspectus of the events, which concluded with her disabling them with a stunning spell,"

"Didn't you think to make sure Arthur was alright?"

Gaius raised an eyebrow at his ward. Having discovered the mix, he poured an amount into a small clay bowl and began to mold it with a grinding stone.

"Oh, right…" Merlin coughed. "And the knights?"

"The knights haven't woken since they've returned," Gaius said slowly.

"Has Morgana enchanted them?" He demanded.

"It appears so," He tipped the contents of the clay bowl into a larger bowl, filled to the brim with steaming water.

Merlin's eyebrows knitted together as he worried his bottom lip. He cast a look of desperate longing in the direction of the infirmary.

"Merlin," Gaius said firmly, "you know better."

"Still…" Merlin whined.

"I can handle it. Tonight is not a good time for you to be exercising too much of your magic. The effects of that charm will strike you in another hour,"

"Yes, I know," He sighed.

"I'm still not particularly keen on it either," Gaius pursed his lips. He placed a wooden spoon to restrain the dark, mushy mix, and divided the warm, brown liquid into two cups. He hobbled to the bed, where the younger man resided, and sat beside him, pushing the fresh tea into his hands.

"Gaius," Merlin grimaced, "we've talked about this."

"I just feel that the burden is too much for you, what with the distance between Camelot and Caerleon. _I_ could -"

"_No_,"

"But -"

"You know why I can't do that, Gaius,"

"I do," Gaius paused. "I'm worried your responsibilities will suffer if you tire yourself out. Last month, I believe you mentioned that tensions were rising in Enol…"

In a single, rapid movement, Merlin all but shoved the tea back into Gaius's hands and sprung from the bed to positively parade about the physician's chambers, gesticulating wildly, in what could only be described as an exasperated tirade.

"They're barking _mad_, Gaius," Merlin moaned, "All of them - they've gone completely bonkers! Morgana's thrown the magical community into utter disarray! After ordering her followers to enlist virtually every sorcerer in the five kingdoms, she's increased her army by about a third! The rest have segregated themselves into two individual parties."

"I take it you've tried to convince them already?"

Merlin scowled. He crossed his arms indignantly and took to pacing about the small clearing in between the two tables.

"Chamberlain - that git - is being a right pain in the - " Merlin glanced at the elderly physician. " - er, rear end. I've tried, Gaius - I've spoken to him several times, and he's vehemently denied each time. He's even the gall to suggest I join his party instead. Can you imagine, Gaius? _Me_, join _him_? As for Spriggs, he's hidden himself and the remaining sorcerers. I haven't had the time to look for them, but I have a feeling they've gone and asked for the druids' protection."

"Will they fight with you?" Gaius patted the open spot on the bed, with a meaningful look toward the ireful warlock. Merlin's face soured further, but he complied.

"My guess is that they'll be maintaining neutrality," Merlin said thoughtfully. "For the first time since the Great Purge, Camelot's got a king who hasn't openly sought to annihilate them. They may be hesitant to interfere in the kingdom's political matters,"

"Perhaps, but you can't fight Morgana alone,"

"I've been having a hard time finding allies though. I haven't -" Merlin trailed off as his mouth elongated into an impressive yawn, "I haven't got many."

"I do believe you've one follower who would ward off a pack of wildren if you asked," Gaius smirked, sipping his tea nonchalantly.

"Don't _tease _me, Gaius," Merlin flushed. He brought his own bit of hot drink to his lips and raised the cup higher than was strictly necessary to conceal his reddened features.

"I take it the training's coming along nicely?" The old physician queried lightly.

"Alright, I s'pose," Merlin mumbled. "…Might progress faster if he had a proper teacher."

"There's hardly any more suitable than you, Merlin," Gaius scoffed.

"He's taken to this… _pestering_," Merlin spat, as if the word tasted particularly vile on his tongue. "He's convinced he'll be fighting with us."

"I agree with you, but he's just young," Gaius smiled, with a small shrug of the shoulders.

"He's only fifteen!" Merlin flung his arms into the air so as to emphasize his point, but the heat of his declaration was rather smothered by the following yawn.

"Yes, but remember when you were his age…"

"_I_ lived with my mother when I was fifteen," Merlin grouched. He tucked a hand into the crevice of his forearm and bicep - the epitome of a disgruntled adolescent - and swallowed a spot more of his tea.

"It sounds like they're keeping you on your feet, Merlin. I'm glad," The soft twitch of Gaius's mouth was slight, but a smile nonetheless. "Am I correct to presume, then, that everyone is well in Enol?"

A sly snake of a smirk slithered across Merlin's mouth.

"I take it that by _everyone_, the only _one _you truly mean, is Alice?"

Gaius's withered cheeks heated with the transparent ghost of a blush,

"Merlin!"

"I'm sorry," Merlin laughed, "the temptation was far too strong. She's well. I couldn't manage without her."

"I'm glad that the two of you are enjoying each other's company. I'd always hoped for that," Genuine as Gaius's smile was, it didn't quite reach his eyes.

"What is it?" Merlin's chin tilted down just a bit as the cheer in his expression cleared for a sincere concern.

"Don't worry. It's just that an old man gets lonely sometimes without you _or _Alice,"

Merlin was met with another half-smile that made his gut wrench uncomfortably.

"I'm sorry,"

"Don't apologize. I still believe there will once again come a day when you two will live in Camelot…Merlin - _are you crying_?"

Horrified, the latter began to splutter a refute to the physician's query, but caved into the suppressed yawn midway through. As his mouth slowly fell shut, he found Gaius to be perusing him with some amusement - much to his immense relief.

"It's probably best you get on home before Arthur's charm fully stimulates," He chuckled.

Merlin nodded. He put the small cup of tea to his lips, intending to consume the remaining liquid, but didn't anticipate that the amount was to such a proportion that his cheeks would grow as round and bulbous as a puffer fish. He swallowed, with some difficulty, and tried for a weak smile.

Gaius took Merlin's cup, as well as his own, and set to place them in a gathering of dishes that also needed a wash. He returned to the clearing near the door where Merlin stood and caught him in another warm hug,

"Be _careful_," Gaius said seriously.

"I will," Merlin assured.

Merlin stepped away from Gaius and prepared to utter the proper spell that would whisk him away from Camelot, yet stopped as a sudden thought struck him.

"Listen - the charm should activate soon, but, well, about Arthur's head, could you still…"

Gaius smiled.

"Yes, Merlin. Of course,"

Merlin returned with an appreciative smile, evidently pacified with the promise.

His eyes sparkled gold following the incantation whispered under his breath. The wooden planks of the floorboards in front of the warlock appeared to dull in its brown coloring. They began to blur, twist, and contort until reduced to a curious watery puddle of lusterless brown amid the monotonous pattern of timber panels. Merlin moved into the dry puddle, and simply vanished into floorboards.

* * *

Hundreds of miles away from Camelot, in the forests of a small town called Enol, Merlin, respectfully known as "Emrys" among the druids, the last Dragonlord, the protector of King Arthur Pendragon, the object of fear by High Priestess Morgana Pendragon, and the most powerful warlock to have ever lived, fell out of a tree and landed face-first in the dirt.

He grimaced against the uncomfortable feel of his throbbing nose on the cold, damp soil and the blaring scent of the musky earth pervading his nostrils. His mouth scrunched together as clumps of moist dirt urgently pressed against his lips. A justifiably harassed sound that could have either been a grunt or a moan erupted from Merlin as he rolled onto his back. He idly observed the liquefied spot of decomposed bark on the tree retreat into itself and evaporate. That transportation spell was wonderful - he was able to get in and out without a sound -, but since it was a powerful incantation, and difficult to control, it could reopen anywhere near his required destination. This time, he'd been ejected from the trunk, and he couldn't shake the bizarre image that the tree had vomited, and he was what had come out.

Merlin's face soured again as his arm moved under his body to the small of his back. His hand closed around a rough stone and unearthed it from where it had been ribbing his flesh. He chucked it behind him half-heartedly and then readjusted his position on the ground, too tired to do much else. He extended his limbs in such a way that he resembled a starfish and his arm stretched into a benevolent patch of grass that grew harmlessly beside his unfortunate bed of dirt. He gave a wistful sigh, wishing he'd landed _there _instead, and drifted off in the midst of the nighttime forest.

When Merlin woke, he immediately realized that he had slept through the entire night clear to midday on the forest floor, much to the immense dismay of his aching joints. He peeled himself up from the dirt, dusted his clothes, and trekked back to his cottage. When he'd been forced to relocate from Camelot, he staked out the town of Enol and took care to choose a house a little ways away, yet within walking and communicable distance of civilization. And regarding his want of privacy, if Merlin had to emerge from the woods at questionable hours, he'd prefer to do so without the judgments and speculations of prying eyes. It was this method of "thinking ahead" that allowed Merlin's prompt arrival at the small cottage on the outskirts of the forest.

He unlocked the door and closed it behind him, glancing about at the cramped sitting room: the long, narrow table, the thin bed in the corner, and the counter pressed against the wall - the shelves littered with bottled chemicals, ingredients, and kitchen supplements.

"Hello?"

He observed the hollow interior somewhat dejectedly and then collapsed into one of the five chairs coupled with the table. He positioned both elbows on its hard surface and massaged his temples fretfully. The brush of something soft against his ankles startled him, dispatching a legion of goose bumps across his skin. His heart rate quickened in verbatim with the spike of the dull, throbbing pain of a tension headache. His whole body flexed into a defensive posture as his head snapped downward. He was met with a pair of clear green eyes. Merlin released a loud sigh of relief as the cat meowed noisily and jumped onto his lap. He stroked the cat's unwontedly carrot-colored fur absently, all the while reminding himself that he had good cause to be paranoid. And when he thought of paranoia, an icy needle of it whizzed through his spine when he remembered how close Morgana had come to eliminating Arthur. _A head injury_. Arthur's eyes had been unnervingly vacated, and that look of sheer perplexity never quite left his expression during their interaction.

Merlin gently pushed his cat from his lap - earning him a rather fiery hiss - and approached the counter purposefully. Perched on the very tips of his toes, he probed around on the highest shelf of the counter until his hand touched the cold mouth of a tin wash basin.

"_Inbringe, cume mec_,"

The wash basin came levitating from the shelf. Merlin directed it with a steady hand, studiously concentrating on _not _spilling any of the water on himself. When it had been successfully lowered without a drop lost, he opened a drawer and removed a small knife planted among a bed of various other utensils. He didn't spare a moment to think before slicing the blade across the peak of his index finger - if pain was to be had, he'd rather it be quick. Shiny beads of blood oozed from the incision, and Merlin dipped it in the basin and drew his finger in circles around the perimeter. A scarlet shadow stalked his pale finger amid the silver-toned water.

"_Diegol cnytte, gewitte me yst_,"

A dim, grainy vision of Arthur Pendragon conversing with his wife appeared in the water. Merlin smiled contentedly - if Arthur was up and about, then perhaps the head trauma hadn't been as severe as he anticipated. He scrutinized the reflection, peering at Gwen's pained expression and the lack _of _expression on Arthur. The scene broadened, and his heart lurched at the sight of the four comatose knights lying deathly still on their beds. Nevertheless, Merlin's mind reeled with speculations. Gaius should have already remedied the incapacitated knights, and Merlin was inferring that there had been a setback or, in a scenario he would rather not consider, he had been incapable of nullifying Morgana's spell. And wasn't it peculiar, Merlin thought, that Morgana enchanted the knights, while simply disabling the king? Wasn't her comprehension of hierarchy demented somehow? Shaken, Merlin waded a trembling hand through the murky water, dissipating the image.

He snatched the thick, dark green cloak draped across another chair. He stuffed his arms through the holes, fastened the buttons, and pulled the hood over his head. He cast a powerful glamour spell on himself, and grimaced against the ache of his cheek bones expanding and his nose lengthening.

"_Gierd landes néawest, áwendednes plæce_,"

* * *

There were dozens of sorcerers compressed into a uniform syndicate. Merlin would have described them as a hulking pack of baboons clad in shirts and trousers - more so in terms of character -, but their systematic arrangement made them otherwise. The teleportation spell had thrust him from its vortex into the compact composition of sorcerers returning to Morgana's fortress. His expulsion from the magically-powered depths sent him stumbling into a tall, broad-shouldered man.

"Watch it," The sorcerer said hollowly, without sparing Merlin a glance.

"Sorry. Tripped," Merlin grunted. His new voice - gravely and rough - sounded foreign to him in his ears, but he still felt anxiety thrum against his gut when the man's eyes suddenly fastened onto his.

He waited for the man to shoulder his way past him, and smothered the blare of his internal alarm when he continued to stare at him. His face, which was previously pale and vacant, appeared to glow with color and purpose.

"I've never seen your face before_,_" He returned curiously.

"I could say the same," Merlin replied, lacing the venom into his voice possessed by every rotten individual in Morgana's army.

"Are you new?" The man's lips twisted slightly.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Merlin said flatly.

"We treat rookies _really _nicely around here…" He smiled disarmingly.

Merlin stifled a shudder. The vibe about this sorcerer was unnerving. Despite how he was acting, Merlin could feel that this wasn't actually him.

"That's a lie," Merlin rejoined, "and I'd bet that I've been around longer than you have."

"How about a duel, then?" The man took a step toward Merlin. "There's no better way to tell."

"That's fine…" Merlin nodded, "…if you actually managed to touch me."

"I know a rookie when I see one," His deceptively polite facade crumbled marginally under the depth of his growl.

"Your brain probably memorizes about three whole faces, so there was no hurry to remember mine," Merlin sneered, determined to lure the man from his cordial veneer. "I don't recall yours either, but you're not much to look at in the first place."

He watched in fascination as the sorcerer's face flushed an ugly shade of puce and righted itself again as effortlessly as he could wriggle his left pinkie. His body tensed when the broad-shouldered man leaned forward, appraising him as something indiscernible.

"Shut the hell up, maggots! The Lady Morgana -" The burly sorcerer leading the procession leveled Merlin with a withering glare. His gaze flickered to the tall, antagonizing sorcerer beside him, and he appeared to draw himself up to his full height in anger, much as a turkey might. "Sod it, Simms! This is your _third _warning, you son of a bitch. That's just a bit too bloody generous, don't you think? _Front and center_! Your ass is Morgana's now."

With the fluidity of a snake honing in on its prey, and with the wild eyes of a beast who has just identified his rival amid a stampede of monotonous fools, the sorcerer called Simms appeared before Merlin, six feet of untapped insanity and obsession, and bent to meet him at a point where eye contact could be properly sustained. Merlin steeled himself, sensing the utter abnormality about this man, and about the sudden shift of mood in their exchange. His heart thumped rampantly in his chest, but strangely, there was no fear.

"Who do you think you're fooling?" Simms said, his voice oddly low - much too low to be perceived by any stray pair of ears. "You don't belong here. Everything about you is all wrong."

Merlin didn't respond, instead, staring willfully into the man's uncannily wide eyes.

"_Front and center_, Simms!" The burly sorcerer reiterated with a bellow. "Are you deaf? You have five seconds. FIVE SECONDS to move, or I'll rip out your spine and feed it to the dogs!"

Merlin scarcely spared a thought to the shouting; Simms, however, gave no inclination to even having heard it at all.

"I'll kill you," He whispered. "No. I'll never forget now. I'll _kill _you…Emrys. I swear I will."

Swearing profusely, the burly sorcerer shoved two men forward with orders to retrieve Simms in the quickest, most inhumane manner possible. Purely out of spite, Merlin thought, the grumbling men simply looped one arm each under Simms's pits and quite literally dragged him to the _front and center _position of the assemblage. Even so, his wide, pale eyes remained locked onto Merlin's; even so, Merlin's hard blue gaze remained locked onto his. The mass of bodies refilled the gap, breaking their contact, and Merlin easily regressed back into the mask of a confident sorcerer, who, by all appearances, _did _belong in Morgana's fortress.

The troops were permitted entrance into the elusive stronghold. Merlin remained with the sorcerers as they marched about the bewildering structure of hallways and tunnels, until the lot of them began to file into the armory to extricate themselves from their padding and to remove their weapons. When the last man moved to enter the armory, Merlin used the momentum of his figure as a cover to slip past the perceiving eyes inside and continue on down the hallway.

Merlin bypassed an absurd number of roguish sorcerers who demanded to know where he was going without his regiment.

He told them he needed to take a piss.

As he approached Morgana's equivalent of a throne room in the fortress - where he normally garnered his information -, he discreetly sized the two men guarding the chamber. Deciding against calling attention to all the sorcerers in the fortress with the noise that correlated with physically remove them, Merlin hardened his heart and halted in front of the sorcerers, expressly catching their eyes.

"What are you on about?"

"Where's your regiment, eh?"

Merlin's eyes shimmered. The two men stiffened, and began to seize violently. It was a cruel spell in which an overwhelmingly grand mass of magical energy was transmitted from Merlin into the sorcerers, causing seizures from the shock. The overload temporarily paralyzed their nervous systems as a defense mechanism against the dangerous excess of power. The amount of magic possessed in the body of the one called Emrys, was unmatchable, Gaius had said, hence, that kind of power could not be maintained by another sorcerer whose body was unaccustomed to it.

The two men crumpled to the floor - alive, but very much incapacitated -, and Merlin, with self-loathing penned across his expression, entered Morgana's chambers. He approached the marble scrying fount in the center of the room. A while back, Morgana had chosen to make Merlin's life even more difficult by rendering herself untraceable via hydromancy, crystal gazing, or location spells. Granted, Merlin had already ferreted out her fortress, but her individual movements were now invisible to him, save for _this _scrying dish. It was a tool of the Old Religion, activated solely by a sorcerer with high-density magic, that pinpointed any and all persons. He placed his hands on the smooth, chalky brim of the fount, and was obediently shown Morgana Pendragon. She was situated rather smugly among a horde of knights, despite the surplus of sharp objects that were clearly meant for her. Merlin's eyes flew wildly about the sea of heads in search of a pompous blonde one, frowning when he didn't find it. He willed a bit of magic into the fount, and the image changed; he could have fallen over dead at the sight of the tense, yet determined figure of Arthur Pendragon marching to his doom through the passageway leading to the stables, haphazardly decked in armor that was just so ridiculously careless in its donning that he could have easily ripped the shoulder pad from Arthur's form and beat him savagely about the head and body with it.

"Stupid prat…_Licgan sé stefn_!"

Merlin huffed. He reveled in self-satisfaction at the king's undignified position in the dirt and the grandiosity of the root that had done his bidding.

"_Licgan sé stefn!_" He cried again, when Arthur started forward. He chuckled shamelessly even as the crown ruler of Camelot landed in a heap of mud.

It was a regular battle of wills, and although Merlin clearly had the advantage, he wasn't entirely sure who was winning. Arthur had forsaken his legs for walking and made them legs for _crawling_. He shook his head minutely and set to delay him further by wrapping a root about his waist - busywork for Arthur while he assessed Morgana's state of affairs.

His breathing suspended in his chest. The witch had easily stunned nearly all of the knights, and there were a meager three left standing. He observed through narrowed eyes as she struck them down as simply as she might have brushed an insect from her person. The last man fell, and he felt _it_ in verbatim with Morgana's victorious smirk. It was less of a feeling, rather that when he _saw _the dense mass of condensed magic spike with exhilaration, he could just as well _feel _its power. They were invisible to him amongst the shadows of the forest, but the heavy cloud of magical aura mixed into Morgana's own repulsive filth were satisfactory indicators enough to convince him that she had prepared an _army_, this was an _invasion_, and Arthur had approached this _alone_.

Arthur had entered the clearing with only his sword for protection, and anxiety raddled Merlin like the hypothermic backlash of the Dorocha tearing through his flesh. Throughout their interaction, he divided his attentions between Morgana and every shift of motion from the sorcerers within the brush. How was he to intervene? A single mistake from Merlin could provoke a consensual assault from them and it was less than hypothetical that the witch meant to kill Arthur. However, if that were so, then why was Morgana toying with him the way she was?

"Oh, _no_. No, no, no, no, no, _no_," Merlin moaned in horror, looking from Arthur's slumping figure to Morgana's triumphant waving of the physician's note as if it were the very flag of Camelot.

Merlin paused to fret as he always did when Arthur was in danger. Furthermore too, when he continued to watch, and witnessed his curious bouts of shouting and his insolence melt into vulnerability. He corrected himself when the king was unexpectedly released from his paralysis.

Morgana cast a spell, and Merlin recognized it. He couldn't nullify it, nor could he prevent it, but he _could _counter it with his own. It was a terrible idea to summon Arthur to Enol, Caerleon, and even though _terrible _wasn't even a term that was broad enough to define the extent of its foulness, even though he couldn't imagine how Arthur would react, even though he couldn't conceive how he would go about explaining this to him, even though he couldn't guarantee Arthur wouldn't _kill _him, with Morgana intending to send Arthur _here_, his hands were tied.

"_Cylcan á æt oferlád bæcern_!"

The room began to shake when the last syllable left Merlin's lips. Light appeared in the cracks of the walls. He cursed. The witch's throne room was charmed to notify all of the sorcerers throughout the fortress with the lights when a foreign magical signature presented itself in the room.

He cast his teleportation spell just as the door burst open. Men piled into the room. Merlin hurled himself inside, and the very last thing that he saw, was a pair of cold eyes among the crowd, watching him as he disappeared into the vortex.

* * *

Merlin was deposited on the outskirts of the forest alongside his cottage. He took off into the trees at a run. Greenery flew past him in a blur as he sprinted. His eyes darted about wildly for an unconscious man among the serene forest setting. That particular spell was typically used to move cargo, and frankly, Merlin was outraged that Morgana would endeavor to kidnap Arthur with it. It wasn't _meant _for humans. He had been forced to use the same incantation as a counter only because there was no alternative spell to match its strength. He would be lucky to find Arthur alive.

He identified a spot of blonde hair shining in the grass and approached it somewhat numbly. He hovered loosely over Arthur's body, and then, remembering himself, dropped to his knees to inspect his friend for injuries. His hand probed along Arthur's neck, searching for a pulse. He found one. It was weak, but suddenly Merlin could breath again.

"_His trial begins now, Emrys_,"

Merlin froze. The voice reverberated as an echo in his skull. His blood began to boil, and he rose to his feet, turning around very slowly. He didn't move, but his eyes roamed about every inch of the forest.

"Where are you? WHERE ARE YOU?"

He was met with silence. He shattered it with a thunderous roar, and trailed backward, rearing with explosive anger that was reminiscent of a dragon, until he stumbled over Arthur. Merlin fell onto his butt on the side opposite the incapacitated king with his legs sprawled unceremoniously across Arthur's middle. He stared at his pale face in astonishment, as if he had intentionally disrupted Merlin's anger. He sighed, dually exhausted from his useless anger and ashamed of it. Mordred was already gone. He had gone as quickly as he had came.

Merlin stood again, calm as the breeze that ruffled the trees. He leaned down next to his friend, and propped him into a sitting position. He slung Arthur's arm over his shoulder, and one of his own along his waist, as he had done many times before when everything was normal between them. He pulled both of the them up together and made to hobble back to his cottage. He paused though, and craned his neck back to scrutinize the patch of grass that Arthur had been laying on. It was that same bed, immersed in sunlight, that he longed to have fallen on prior. He smiled wryly.

That was okay, Merlin thought,

That was okay - because it was his job to ensure that Arthur Pendragon _always _landed in that sunny bed of grass, rather than the cold, damp bed of dirt that existed harmlessly beside it.


	4. Chapter 4

What? Chapter 4 already? It's so early!

...

Okay, yeah, I know, this is still late. I try to write fast, I really do. It just doesn't work.

The reviews mean a lot though. Seriously, they do. Keep them coming. I _reeeally_ like them.

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**[ Chapter Four ]**

_Dual Quagmire_

* * *

Merlin frowned at Arthur's back, which bobbed pointedly up and down from its place on the horse. Arthur hadn't uttered a word since their egression from the castle. Merlin was unrepentant - initially, at least. The regret began to needle him when the silence became notoriously dull and the forest exterior told him that they hadn't even fared halfway through Darkling Woods.

He apologized, albeit reluctantly (Arthur always teased _him _and it wasn't as though Gwen wouldn't forgive him or be just as happy to see him when they returned), to which he rejoined with a low grunt. Irritated, Merlin did the only thing he could to make Arthur acknowledge him. He did a lot of tripping. It was nothing short of a success too, because Arthur eventually gave a noisy sigh and declared,

"You know, Merlin, if you managed to be any more of a clumsy oaf, you might as well be dead."

Merlin countered by expressing that at the very least, he would be free of Arthur. They got on fairly well after that.

Twilight broke not long after. Merlin set to assemble a small camp for two and Arthur left to secure game for their supper. He was gathering firewood, when a rustle in the bushes compelled him to drop his bundle and wait, any number of spells on the tip of his tongue. A white muzzle protruded from the tall boscage, followed by a white horn, and then the body of a creature so rare that Merlin's breath hitched. The unicorn perused him warily. Taking a broad leap of faith, Merlin approached it with as amicable an air as he could assume and offered his hand for the unicorn to sniff. Its nose tickled his skin, and with a definitive snort, took to grazing the grass. He stroked its gallant body gently, taking special care to ensure his movements were slow and careful. He felt the unicorn flinch under his hand and a slight inclination of the neck showed Arthur dragging the carcass of a deer into their camp. Arthur's eyebrows had merged with his hairline.

"What _is _it with you and animals?"

Merlin shushed him and waved him forward. Arthur gave a tentative acquiescence, visibly scrutinizing the creature's tense body doubtfully. Just as Merlin was sure it would flee, its head dropped again to pasture the land. Arthur looked just as surprised, but he recovered quickly to indulge in the unicorn's sudden absence of fear.

They left the creature to its meal; Merlin mustered the abandoned firewood to start on their fire, while Arthur situated himself on a log. He was so absorbed in his menial tasks that he hadn't noticed that Arthur had long neglected his half-skinned deer to watch him work with unseeing eyes.

"I killed one of those,"

Merlin stared at his friend. Unsure of how he should respond, there was a long silence that prompted Arthur to seek his eye contact, which he averted the instant the king's gaze found his.

"That was a long time ago," He said.

"I was a fool," Arthur muttered.

Merlin said nothing, and applied himself to rummaging through their bags for the brewing pot.

"You agree with me," Arthur said accusingly, and lacking any real venom in his tone.

"Well, you're not wrong," Merlin told him.

Arthur snorted lightly.

"…But I _will _say that you have grown since then," Merlin continued, with a meaningful look toward Arthur. "You're no longer a fool."

"Was that a compliment?" Arthur said dryly.

"I wasn't finished. You're no longer a fool … just a bit obtuse is all,"

"You'll never just let me have my fun, will you?" Arthur rolled his eyes.

"Never," Merlin beamed.

* * *

The first time Arthur woke, everything was black. It was so black, in fact, that he wondered if he was actually awake. He had an inkling that he might simply be perusing the insides of his eyelids. There was a slight chill in the air that coaxed a shiver from his stiff body, so he felt about the bed for extra blankets. His hand eventually found one and he pulled it over himself, despite it being small and thin and wildly inadequate in warding off the cold.

There was a nagging, persistent heaviness in his gut that told him something terrible had happened. He couldn't quite recall any of the details though, and he was so groggy that he didn't care to try. Nor did he care to consider that he was currently occupying another's bed, using another's blankets, in another's residence.

Thus, Arthur rolled over and fell asleep to the very distinct sound of snoring in the background.

* * *

The second time Arthur woke, he merely floated in a semi-conscious state. His knight's instincts determined that his location hadn't been modified in the intervals of his last awakening to now. He was still in somebody's savage of a bed. Tough and coarse as a peasant's bed, it was. That revelation sparked the gears of his mind to turn, twist, and work against each other. He began to tune into the sounds that bounced off the walls of the foreign residence, waiting for his ears to absorb them. The vague pulse in the crown of his cranium protested the sudden effort. There were voices, two even: one was level, slightly deep, yet entirely light, while the other was higher, younger, and laced with boyish condescension. There was also a maddening prod in his lower left abdomen. His body subconsciously squirmed away from the harassment.

"Leave him be!" The first voice cried frantically. "What if you wake him?"

"I thought you were waiting for that. Are we killing him instead? Can I do it?"

"No! We are _not _-"

"Oi, Merlin, the bloke's twitching!"

…_Merlin?_

Arthur startled himself awake once his mind processed that conversation. His eyes snapped to rights like a pair of shutters, only to widen at the proximate, unexpected sight of two blue eyes hovering above his face.

"_Bloody hell_!" Arthur hollered loudly. He made to scramble into a sitting position, but the face looming above his hadn't the time to react properly, so Arthur's forehead collided painfully against it in a rather clumsily executed head butt.

Fiery needles lacerated his cranium upon impact. There was a yelp of pain above him, but he wouldn't have heard it over his own agonized howl. He scarcely perceived them himself through the pain. Nausea curdled in his stomach like rotten cheese in the noonday sun. Heat flooded through his veins, despite the cold sweat painting his pallid features.

"The poor sod is going to be sick," The second voice declared. His tone was ominously low, as though the suspense was exciting for him. "…and that's your bed he's on, Merlin."

Merlin squeaked fearfully. There was a faint patter of frantic footsteps skirting about the cottage, when a pot was abruptly shoved into Arthur's lap. After his moment of misery had passed, he sluggishly wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and looked up. Merlin was staring at him with large, anxious eyes and sporting an angry red mark on his forehead. Beside him, was a youth, who was evidently fascinated with Arthur's presence.

"_You_," Arthur growled. The black shadow of a glower marred his face. A plethora of emotions that he ought to be feeling flitted through his mind, but somehow, anger seemed the most appropriate to him. It was certainly the easiest.

"Me," Merlin returned weakly. He paused, studying Arthur thoughtfully, with some degree of resignation; his blanched countenance appeared to smooth over.

"John - fetch Arthur some water from the well," Merlin said quietly.

"Alright," The young man nodded. He snagged the tarnished handle of the wooden pail beside the door, perusing Arthur knowingly as he closed the door behind him.

Arthur immediately hoisted himself off the bed. His hands tangled into the collar of Merlin's shirt. He forced him backward, even when Merlin began to stumble, and shoved him into the wall.

"Where?" He snarled.

_Where am I?_

It was a terribly vague question and it was irrational of him to expect a reply, but he wasn't thinking clearly so he _did_, and Merlin complied with impressive dispassion.

"Enol, Caerleon,"

"What?" He demanded.

_What happened?_

"You know," Merlin replied firmly.

Arthur did know. His words indistinctly triggered the tidal wave of yesterday's memories. He narrowed his eyes.

"How?" He said tightly.

_How am I here? How did you know?_

"That's…" Merlin trailed off with a conflicted grimace.

Arthur growled low in his throat. He pressed his knuckle into the small depression on Merlin's neck formed by tense muscles, eliciting a strained affliction across his calm features and an uneasy discomfort from his posture.

"It's a long story, Arthur," He said hoarsely. "Sit down, and I'll explain -"

Arthur's unshakable grip on his collar tightened.

"No, Merlin. You're right. I know exactly what's happened," He sneered.

Merlin's eyebrows furrowed in bemusement. He stared at Arthur as though he wanted to correct him, but couldn't find the right words. He was relieved of his troubles when John reentered the cottage, wooden pail in tow. There was a heavy silence in the room in which John glared at the owner of the hands that were essentially obstructing Merlin's oxygen and Arthur wasn't sure who or at what he should be returning the gesture.

"There's a plan. Vomit in our best pot and then attack the man who's saved you," John snapped.

"John -" Merlin started. He stopped when Arthur shoved him away and retreated to the bed where the pot resided. Arthur bent over his pot of sick, clutching either side of it, and retched.

When he was finished, he scowled at John.

"I have every right. He's kidnapped me," Arthur growled through onerous breaths. His spine ached like it had been replaced with a sword.

John leveled the king with a clear look of disbelief that did nothing to appease his fury.

"What! I did _not_!" Merlin squawked indignantly.

"Don't _lie_," He seethed.

"…Merlin?" Came a small voice.

Arthur's eyes darted to the source. Having emerged from one of the two doors adjacent to the bed, was a pair of children.

There was a girl and a boy, clearly related, and both openly staring at the guest doubled over their cooking pot. Arthur cautiously leaned back against the skirt of the bed, only to stiffen when the boy approached him to peer into the piece of cooking ware. The boy's face changed immediately. His half-lidded eyes widened until they were big and round, eliminating any trace of their sleepy fog.

"That's gross!" He said loudly.

The stench must have hit him, because he retreated from Arthur and the pot to rejoin his sister.

"It stinks," Piped the girl. Her small face crinkled distastefully.

Arthur flushed, in spite of himself, and drew the pot behind him until it was practically under the bed.

Merlin appraised Arthur and the children with a defined grimace etched across his features.

John, having been the sole individual to retain his wits, addressed the children,

"Alright, Noah? Ellie?"

"There was yelling," Noah replied simply.

"I see," John said lightly. His brows furrowed almost imperceptibly at Arthur.

"Who is this man?" Ellie wondered.

When an answer didn't come quickly enough to sate a child's diminutive patience, she blinked owlishly,

"Merlin?"

Overwhelmed and candidly unmindful of how Merlin may have chosen to respond, Arthur steadied himself from where he'd been stationed on his knees and very slowly departed from the cottage. His pace was more laborious than he would have liked, but he just needed to get away. There was too much at that house. Too many of those damn variables.

There was a distinct slamming of a door behind him, followed by the sound his name from the mouth of the most prominent enigma in Arthur's life.

"Arthur - Arthur, wait. You can't leave,"

Arthur didn't turn around. He didn't even stop walking. It was all he could do to divide his attention between putting one foot before the other, breathing, and listening.

"Why? Why can't I leave?" He demanded.

"You've not well, Arthur. Have some sense! You're being ridiculous!"

"_I'm _being ridiculous? Me? You're asking me to sleep under the same roof as the man who killed my father. Would you do such a thing?"

"I've done worse," Merlin said shortly.

Arthur stopped, then. He whipped around, delegating a disorienting rush of dizziness that assaulted his senses and punctured his limbs.

Merlin sighed.

"Listen, Arthur. There's a lot that needs to be said. I realize that. But if you would just listen -"

"I already said I was done listening to you, Merlin," Arthur interjected cuttingly.

Merlin recoiled sharply. He recognized it as the expression Merlin wore when Arthur had accidentally struck him with the pommel of his sword during those training sessions that he loathed, or perhaps when the blade slipped past the shield and nipped at his abdomen. Arthur usually apologized for that, however roundabout and awkward it may have been when it was given. This time, he merely treated him to a severely unimpressed look, despite his confliction between the satisfaction at having clearly fazed Merlin, and the accusing wrench that needled his conscience.

Arthur turned on his heel with little difficulty, but he had to realign and balance himself. He was pleasantly surprised - or maybe not, he wasn't sure - when there were no footsteps scurrying to follow him.

"Morgana's taken Camelot!" Merlin burst from behind him.

Arthur's eyes fluttered shut. He'd known that, but hearing aloud, having it confirmed verbally, with utmost certainty…

"I know what I need to be doing then,"

He trudged forward, traipsing into the very border of the forest, leaving Merlin behind him.

* * *

Arthur plopped down at the base of a nice spruce tree situated roughly two kilometers into the forest, away from Merlin. The raging headache, aching spine, churning stomach, and stinging throat hindered his progress. More than once along the way had he stopped to vomit or to dry heave.

He rested his head against the bumpy exterior of the tree. His eyes wandered from the leafy forest exterior to the peach hue of the sky. It wasn't actually morning, he realized, but early evening. As he sat, his body began to cool from a feverish rush of heat. It might have been the desperate fatigue that follows regurgitation or the tranquil swish of the trees in the background, but somewhere in between he found a medium that put him to sleep.

He had a dream. It was less of a dream though, as it was a sequence of vivid fragments from a very old memory. Although he never allowed himself to think of it too often or too deeply, he brought it with him from his childhood to his adult life. It was one of those memories etched into the conscience regardless of preference. There were facets of salient faces, sounds, and voices. One of the faces was pale, with a thin sheen of freckles dotting his withered cheeks. He had a prominent nose and round, shifty green eyes. His eyes had laugh lines around them, Arthur remembered. The other face belonged to his father. It was decisive and unrelenting, without penance. Not that there should have logically. There was fire crackling, wood shattering, and feet dragging. The voice perturbed him to such a degree that he was expelled from the dream and thrust into consciousness. The voice, and the flash of angry eyes that wasn't accustomed to expressing such an emotion.

[ "This _is the legacy of Camelot, boy! _This _is what you inherit!_"]

Henry - a whimsical, elderly man. He was the first sorcerer Arthur had ever met. He was also the first Arthur had seen die. It was an accident. He thought Henry's tricks were fascinating and pleasantly bewildering before he was told of their true nature. He wanted his father to see them. Henry agreed because he hadn't known who Arthur's father was. Before that day, he never knew that people could burn, or rather, it never occurred to him. Wood burned, houses burned, hay burned, animal flesh burned; people, _people _were not supposed to burn. It wasn't plausible to a five-year-old mind.

Arthur wondered if his father knew that a person's skin shriveled, blackened, and disintegrated under the lethal lick of flames. He wondered if Uther Pendragon would have been petrified with horror if he was aware that they screamed themselves raw, until the flames reached their cranium, devoured their hair, and consumed them. He stopped wondering when he witnessed his father absorbing the execution with hard eyes.

It must have been hours later when he woke. Or maybe not. He couldn't be sure. It was dark - that was all he knew. The colors of the sunset had long since evaporated. There was a peaceful silence that Arthur ruined with more dry heaving. Sure that he was finished, he leaned back against the tree, panting. He still felt nauseous. There was this niggling feeling in the remote crevice of his mind that was making him feel ill; it was a foreign presence that prodded against the translucent barriers of his psyche, as if searching for a way to get inside. Was this a remnant of his dream? He didn't know. His head hurt. There was a faint ringing in his ears that apprehended all manner of intelligent thought.

His eyes fluttered shut and he feared that he was going to fall asleep again, but he didn't have the will nor the strength to fight it. It worried him that another memory, or even the very same one, would continue to haunt his dreams like ghosts inhabited their death site.

_Arthur_.

His eyes scoured the forest wildly, with the vigilance of a cornered coyote. His findings were less than favorable because there was nobody, and the presence in the back of Arthur's mind propagated into something that was altogether defined and entirely unidentifiable.

_Arthur_.

Anxiety unhinged him in a manner he found so compromising to his carefully-maintained equanimity that Arthur screwed his eyes shut to distract himself. When he opened them, his vision was blurry from the strain, especially in the dark. For one uneasy moment, he thought the indistinct figure standing before him might actually be a tree or something of the sort.

"Arthur Pendragon,"

Arthur didn't respond. Was this the owner of the voice? Had he imagined the profound presence lurking in the stern of his mind? How long had he been standing there? Why hadn't Arthur heard him approach? Had he already been there? Would Arthur have truly been so absorbed in his musings that he wouldn't have noticed him?

"Maybe. I could also be a rogue knight. How could you know?"

The man regarded him silently through lazy eyes. He appeared to be searching for something in Arthur. Arthur didn't know if he found it, but he replied anyway,

"Camelot's been conquered by a witch," He paused. "The status of King Arthur is unknown."

"If that weren't so?"

"I would identify him as a man who surpassed his father in height, yet inherited the shape of his face and the simple manner in which his hair lies atop his head. His features would have come from his mother. His armor would have clearly been manufactured in the forges of Camelot, but his posture would reflect the strict etiquette of royalty rather than the average knight. You are Arthur Pendragon,"

"You have come to kill me?"

"Your degree of cooperation will decide this,"

This man was an assassin. He had killed before and he would kill again. Had Arthur not been raised from the cradle to distinguish and contend with murderers, the bane of humanity, he might have thought this man dangerous because he appeared utterly expressionless, toneless, and emotionless. He was none of those things. Expressionless was indifference. Toneless was indifference. Emotionless was indifference. He did not regard Arthur as anything but a stepping stone to reach his kill.

"You need something from me, then,"

"I seek information. The whereabouts of the one called Emrys,"

"Despite what appears to be the general assumption, I haven't actually been acquainted with an Emrys," Arthur scarcely managed to withhold the irritation from his voice.

Emrys was rather infamous, wasn't he?

"Lying is not in your best interest,"

"I haven't lied to you, I don't _know _an Emrys," Arthur seethed through gritted teeth and raging frustration.

"To me, he is Emrys," The man said, "but I believe your sort calls him Merlin."

"_Merlin_?" Arthur's voice rose an octave. In spite of both himself and the man, his face screwed up in comic disbelief.

His mind worked furiously as he struggled to recall every context in which the name Emrys had been mentioned and the people involved. It was impossible that he wouldn't remember anything. Hadn't he just seen Morgana yesterday? He was sure she had spoken of an Emrys. Maybe not though, because yesterday was a bit of a blur to him. There was just one lingering thought that bothered him: Merlin was in too deep. Far too deep, for far too long. How long ago had it been since he first heard of Emrys? All this time, and Emrys was Merlin.

"Where can I find the one you call Merlin?"

His question evoked an age-old feeling in Arthur that he thought he'd forgotten. It didn't even make sense that he would feel defensive. Why shouldn't he give Merlin's location to him? Arthur could provide accurate directions to his cottage. It wasn't far and there would be little difficulty in reaching it. Without a doubt, he would find Merlin and - and then what? Kill him? The notion made Arthur uncomfortable for so many reasons, and he hated every single one of them.

"I can't believe I'm saying this," Arthur muttered to himself. He shook his head as an afterthought before he addressed the man with the confident, assured visage of a king, "I can't give you an answer."

"Why?" He hissed. Something fiery lit behind the man's eyes that made Arthur's muscles tense.

"I don't want to see him dead," Arthur admitted candidly. There was a short pause, and he added, "…yet."

"It's your grave, Arthur Pendragon,"

Arthur hadn't yet attained a visual of the man's face. The willowy shadows from the trees cast distorted, grotesque shapes across his pale face that made him appear only semi-human, and even demonic. He took a step closer to Arthur, who subconsciously pressed himself back against the tree. He scarcely spared a thought to it when the man's eyes changed color; he hurtled himself from the line of fire. He heard something snap behind him and scrambled to his feet. Immediately, his stomach lurched and his head thrummed violently. It was dark, and his only signal to move was the man's - the sorcerer's eyes. The terrain was rockier in these parts, so Arthur struggled with keeping himself on his feet. With each flash of his eyes, something either imploded or snapped cleanly in half, and as he raced about the area, he realized that it was the trees. He took a mad leap into the air from a small boulder to dodge an incoming attack, but a rippling snarl from the side distracted him, and he tumbled into the dirt.

He startled when a large figure, dyed black in the night hovered over him, chest heaving erratically. The sorcerer held his hand out in front of him and above Arthur. Arthur didn't flinch away from him, nor did he close his eyes, fearing visions of his innards smeared on the tree behind him or his head rolling across the grass, with a thick, clumpy stream of blood oozing from the mess of severed flesh and torn ligaments. It was better in the long run that he hadn't shied away too, because a great burst of light struck the sorcerer in the chest and knocked him off his feet, simultaneously providing a brief, yet insightful glow on his face. The sorcerer had a thin face despite his large, imposing build, with hollowed cheeks and sharp zygomatic bones. His eyes were big, angular, and eerily pale. The light of consciousness had dimmed from his eyes by the time he hit the grass.

With the menace gone, Arthur's stomach turned and his body reacted to the spurt of damaging physical activity. He actually vomited this time, but his mind was still bustling tiredly with suspicions because _somebody _had taken out the sorcerer and it could only be another sorcerer. He couldn't quite manage to lift his head completely, so he craned it halfway and his eyes covered the rest of the distance.

It was Merlin.

He was appraising the other sorcerer's body grimly, looking more than slightly perturbed. Arthur didn't have enough energy to react when Merlin reluctantly diverted his attentions from the unconscious sorcerer to approach him. His vision was beginning to fog, blur together, and double. There wasn't much time left. Merlin knelt beside him, and the last thing he saw before he faded, was two projections of Merlin sliding harmlessly through his sight. One of them was holographic, but both still gazed at him with earnest, anxious concern and harrowing guilt, and that, to Arthur, was the finishing blow. He passed out.

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